


And in the Deep of Night, You Can Count on Me to be Your Only Light

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, More Porn than Plot, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, cross-dressing, feeling-heavy sex, oppa kink a lil bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tattooed Tao and Preschool Teacher Suho! AU: And Tao, he's also the reason his heart feels too full, almost to bursting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And in the Deep of Night, You Can Count on Me to be Your Only Light

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, as always, aleena

This really isn't the best place to be doing this. There's something decidedly _wrong_ about this, in fact. Joonmyun _knows_ , conscience and shame kicking in for the just the briefest briefest moment, intruding to sour the encounter. 

But as to all the whys and hows he'll wind up in hell, Joonmyun thinks this is a good enough reason. Worth the fallout and the consequences in the end. It’s worth it for the way that Tao looks right now, flushed and sweaty beneath him, jaw slack, eyes clenched shut as he chokes back another moan.

Tao's falling apart on his Batman sheets, trembling when Joonmyun presses another finger inside, reminds him that he has to be _quiet_. Tao's parents are just downstairs. Tao's father had shaken his hand when they’d first met, firm and reassuring, and Tao's mother's smile had reached her eyes. They'd all made tentative plans to vacation in Seoul next Christmas, see Joonmyun's and Tao's shared apartment, explore the city their son now calls home.

And Joonmyun and Tao, they're supposed to be getting situated, unpacking their bags, showering, changing their clothes, maybe taking a nap, resting until dinner. "Freshening up," Tao had trilled in lilting Mandarin, squeezing Joonmyun’s hand extra hard as he’d tugged him up the stairs.

Tao and Joonmyun, they're _not_ supposed to be doing this, and yet here they are.

Because fuck, it's so natural. And Tao had been dropping the most painfully obvious hints at lunch earlier. Switching to Korean, remarking on the spiciness of his soup, how he'd eaten earlier but he was still _starving_. Dragging his slippered foot up the starched denim of Joonmyun's pants in blatant invitation, too, eyes lingering on his as Joonmyun had made small, stilted talk with Tao’s parents about the weather, that new Korean drama that Tao's mother had started watching on Tao's insistence.

This is wrong, Joonmyun thinks, so _wrong_. They’re not supposed to be doing this, but maybe that makes it hotter, too. Maybe that almost makes him want it more. Maybe, maybe, also Tao is too too good at making Joonmyun reckless and careless and heedless. 

Their lube is still in the outermost pocket of their luggage—distressingly easy access, a mistake so easily indulged—because they'd already fucked once in the airport bathroom before racing to customs. Travel makes Tao horny, and Joonmyun is helpless to resist a moaning, eager mess of a boyfriend.

Even, even when his boyfriend’s parents are just downstairs, none the wiser.

Tao is naked from the waist down, fucking back so enthusiastically on his fingers. Head lolling back, limbs quivering as he writhes with the most beautiful abandon. Joonmyun watches him through heavy eyelashes. “Good,” Tao gasps, and the rasp of his voice sends an extra frisson of heat through Joonmyun’s own veins.

He’s so _beautiful_ like this. And maybe, Joonmyun thinks, glancing sidelong as Tao curls with the most beautiful need, comes apart at his fingertips, maybe Tao keeps him grounded, maybe this is kind of all he ever wanted. Even—even if this is so, so wrong. 

"Like your first boyfriend?" Joonmyun manages, curling so that Tao's entire body arches off the bed with a wrecked whimper, quickly smothered, but resounding in the crackling air nonetheless. He bites hard on his plump bottom lip.

"First girlfriend," Tao amends around a monumental shudder. He twists sharply immediately after, the change in angle provoking another tremor, and his lips drag ruddy and swollen against the little black and yellow insignias. He's pure provocation, and Joonmyun bites back a groan, fucks his fingers faster out of spite.

"Hmm, her fingers in your ass, too?"

"No, but I—ah—I had her right here. At least once a week."

Joonmyun shifts and presses hard, deliberate, just to be mean, and Tao gasps sharply, eyes shooting open to stare at him dazedly. Beneath his tight cotton shirt, his chest heaves. There are rivulets of sweat running down the bold contours of his shoulders, his neck. And Tao's fingers scramble over his own body, drag over his own chest to pinch at his nipples.

He’s so _beautiful_ like this. 

"Was she good?" Joonmyun's voice is strained, pants too fucking tight, jealousy curling in his gut, too. "Did she also make you cry whenever you came?"

" _No_. But amazing—fuck—so tight. Wet around _my_ fingers."

Joonmyun hums in acknowledgement. He leans forward to dig one elbow into Tao's hips, holding him down. He keeps Tao from chasing the friction, setting the pace. He's slowed his fingers, too, shifted to stretch Tao instead, dragging insistently along the slick, grooved, fluttering warmth of him. But just shy of how he knows Tao likes, and Tao hisses. Provoked, he continues to speak.

"She let me fuck her, too. She was shy at first, but she could ride me for _hours_. Did. Said I made her feel so _good_."

Tao's hand gropes out for his in the soft light, clambering for Joonmyun's free hand, guiding it to his chest. His pulse hammers beneath Joonmyun’s palm.

"Always," Joonmyun groans. "You're always so good at making people feel good."

Tao shudders at that, eyelashes flutters heavily. Trying still for leverage, for relief, he twists his hips, tries to control the angle.

"I want to come," Tao gasps. “Please."

Joonmyun doesn't relent, keeps teasing and teasing and teasing, and there are tears in Tao's eyes, spilling over, a silent scream on his lips. Joonmyun is so hard, he can barely breathe.

"Joonmyun," Tao begs. “ _Touch_ me. Fuck me."

But Joonmyun doesn't want to push his luck like this. He bends forward instead as he is to suck a mark on Tao's hipbone, close his lips over the gaudy tattoo—his, his mark. He scrapes his teeth just to watch the way that Tao quivers. And then he's swallowing his cock down with a familiar, practiced ease. 

Tao twists again as bites down on his fist to smother a moan. Joonmyun gags, hums, and Tao’s body bows sharply, suspended in the air. His entire body is tense, muscles strained, limbs locked, and then he is shuddering, biting back a long, long whine. And Joonmyun chokes on the spurt of his come. Tao collapses with a breathless whine, breathing harsh and labored as his cock continues to pulse in Joonmyun’s mouth with the aftershocks.

Tao had dyed his hair back to black before coming home, bought makeup to cover up his tattoos, taken out his piercings. (My parents, they know, but my mother says she doesn't need to be _reminded_ )

Presentable, he’d been trying for presentable. He’s a far, far cry from that now. A wrecked beauty on his childhood bed, naked from the waist down, splayed open, shuddering in the afterglow.

The sweat has smeared the beige concealer at his throat, and his hair is falling in damp tendrils across his forehead and Joonmyun can still make out the little holes where metal once resided. His lips are swollen, bitten and so so red as they open and close in the aftermath of pleasure.

Joonmyun imagines that he’s similarly affected. Disheveled. He can feel the sweat gathering on the collar of his powder blue “meet the parents” sweater, the wrinkles in his favorite pair of distressed jeans.

A shower is probably—definitely—in order.

“Together,” Tao decides, languid, but no less persuasive as he sits up, offering Joonmyun a small, secret smile.

And Joonmyun, he’s still so, so hard, still so helpless to resist.

Tao trails after him with a lingering hand on the small of his back, and Joonmyun can feel the burn of it even through the layers of fabric.

 

The shower itself is uneventful, devolves into a playful shoving match, Tao peppering kisses on Joonmyun’s forehead as he scrubs shampoo into his scalp, remarks airily about how small and perfect he is, Joonmyun scrubbing needlessly hard with a pink shower pouf in retaliation. The extra sensitive, extra ticklish parts. The small of Tao’s back, the nape of his neck, his inner thigh. And Joonmyun thinks maybe he called it wrong as he presses a laugh and soap slick fingers into Tao’s ribs just to hear him giggle. Maybe, maybe Tao did want something innocent after all. He wills his erection away by sheer force of will, and he's closer to soft than hard when they step out to towel dry.

But Tao, towel around his waist, beads of water still clinging to his bangs and gliding down his shoulders, along the contours of his chest, he falls to his knees to return the favor, eyes twinkling up in the most tempting promise.

And Joonmyun comes to full hardness under his hot, hot ministrations. The most achingly succulent kisses along the head, the exquisite drag of a Tao’s cupid’s bow, his tongue along the underside, the base, the brush of nimble, string-calloused fingers along his sac.

Joonmyun pants as he rubs at Tao's eyebrow, the tiny hole where his piercing should be, and Tao hums in appreciation, swallows him suddenly down with a practiced ease that has Joonmyun's toes curling into the bathmat, lips opening in a too-loud moan.

“So good,” Joonmyun groans, and Tao’s eyes glitter up at him in acknowledgment. He’s so _gorgeous_ , Joonmyun thinks, mind dazed and dizzy with pleasure, as Tao pulls away just briefly. He mouths up and down, laving the most teasing, torturous kisses, his kittenish lips smiling up at him as Joonmyun’s hips jerk mindlessly towards the friction.

Tao is good so good at what he does. So good at making people feel good, so easy to fucking _want_. He’s determined, eager, aims always to please, and Joonmyun cups his jaw, thumbs at his throat, whispers his name over and over again in a reverent hiss as more and more is swallowed into that mouth. The pretty curl of Tao's lips rest flush against the base of Joonmyun's cock, teasing there. And Joonmyun can barely breathe. The flutter of Tao’s throat around his cock has his knees trembling from pleasure. Tao retreats with a wet gasp, wraps his fingers around to stroke as he whispers. 

 

Breathing ragged, Tao asks Joonmyun to pull his hair extra hard, and Joonmyun does, one hand cradling his cheek, thumbing at the outline of his cock in Tao's mouth. The other curled into a tight, tight fist at his side. 

In the harsh white of the bathroom’s LED bulbs, Tao swallows Joonmyun down like he's the most perfect treat. Like Joonmyun is all he could ever want to taste. And Joonmyun wonders—not for the first time—how he ever got so lucky.

It’s so filthy, so fucking sinful, how eagerly Tao moves on his cock, how hard and deep and fast he swallows. 

Joonmyun groans as he comes down Tao’s heaving throat, knees buckling to knock against the sink’s porcelain. Joonmyun pants too, too loud. 

And Tao is the reason he wears turtlenecks in the middle of summer. The reason he changes his sheets every few days. The reason the sex shop owners know Joonmyun by name, by flavored lube preference. And Tao, he's also the reason his heart feels too full, almost to bursting.

Distressing as this all tends to be. Tao—Tao belongs to him, decidedly, devastatingly his, and Joonmyun is so stupidly in love. 

“I can’t believe,” Joonmyun starts, voice husky but no less accusatory, and Tao spares one more lingering kiss, a resounding suck. Joonmyun’s hips jerk with hypersensitivity. Tao’s laugh is deprecating, but not unkind.

“Of course you can,” he singsongs, mocking and light, rising easily to his feet, towering over him, but nuzzling into him in the next breath. “Of course you’ll want to again."

And yes of course, he will. Of course, he always, always does.

They are here for 10 days. Joonmyun isn't quite sure he'll survive.

 

They do nap afterwards, changing into their matching pajamas, Tao bespectacled and freshly showered, his sharpness softened. And that belongs to him, too. Belongs to him even _more_. 

Tao twines tightly around him, lips flush against the steady thrum of Joonmyun's pulse, humming about how yeah Joonmyun definitely belongs here. Does he finally _see_ , there was really no need to worry. He likes it, right? He feels at home here, too, right? This was a good step forward, right?

Tao's voice is laced with the faintest worry. And yes, it had taken a lot of—in retrospect, too much—convincing on Tao's part to arrange this. A lot of whispered pleas mid blowjobs, dropped hints over their morning coffee, offhand remarks during their movie marathons. An email, finally, in awkward, stilted Korean, from Tao's father, an open invitation, impossible to refuse. And just two weeks before, in time for Tao’s birthday, Joonmyun had dropped the tickets onto his lap, over breakfast. He’d rushed around an explanation. Sorry for not being forthright this was his present. He loved Tao, and this was his present.

Joonmyun was—is—terrified. Of not being enough. Of not measuring up. Of being unworthy. And the anxiety is still there, the urge to squirm away from Tao’s parents' well-intentioned, well-advised scrutiny. Because this—meeting Tao’s parents, proving that he was _enough_ —that feels more concrete than the apartment, the laundry, grocery list they share. More permanent than the lip prints that Tao has tattooed on his hips.

But it's better now that he's here.

And it smells like him, this childhood home of his. Looks distinctly Tao's, too, the decor just a little too gaudy, over the top, beautiful and endearing nonetheless.

There is a tattoo near the place where shoulder means neck, a winding vine of music notes. His mother's lullaby, a tribute, and Joonmyun rests his head there. The skin warm and familiar against his nose, beneath the lingering perfume of Tao's body wash. And really anywhere that they're together, it feels like home. Tao feels like home. Tao, he’s Joonmyun’s direction. He is his gravity. 

And this is contentment. This is completion. Joonmyun admits as much in a soft whisper. He's glad he came, and Tao peppers kisses across forehead, his temple in gratitude.

 

Dinner that night, hours later, is a shy, shameful, stilted affair. Joonmyun catches Tao's mother's eyes, thrumming with residual guilt as he stirs pink-faced, tightlipped at his seafood noodles while Tao, heedless of it apparently, chatters on about all the places he wants to revisit. The beach, the pier, the aquarium, the churches, the old streets.

He's heedless, afterwards, too, minty breath tickling along Joonmyun's skin as he blazes a trail along the column of Joonmyun's throat. The most awful, awful temptation. Hard to ignore, easy to indulge, his fingers drag down the teddy-bear stamped cotton of Joonmyun's pajama shirt. Tao's own shirt drags against Joonmyun's arm as Tao winds an arm, a leg around him to urge him closer. Joonmyun can feel the distinct pressure of Tao's groin against his thigh, whimpering weakly in protest as Tao grinds forward in invitation. "Let's christen this bed properly," Tao urges as Joonmyun's hands close around his hips to hold him steady. Tao sucks a mark on his neck in response.

It makes him feel young again, reminds him of sneaking into his best friend—boyfriend's—room late at night, the taste of wet cotton, the ruin of his own pillow smothered moans, the tingling rustle of cool sheets against his knees, the exquisite perfect, dragging, drugging pleasure.

Tao is divesting him of his shirt, peppering kisses along his chest, his ribs, rasping all the while about how grateful he is for this. How _fuck_ this is making him so fucking hot, Joonmyun here with him.

"Your parents," Joonmyun protests, chides, and Tao laughs. His hands skitter down to the waistband of Joonmyun's sleep pants, nails dragging there. It provokes a helpless shudder.

"We _live_ together, Joonmyun. They know we have sex."

And of course, it's on Joonmyun to be the responsible party.

"But they don’t need to know we’re—fuck—they don't need to know what we sound like when we do," he insists. Decisive, determined. "Let's just go to sleep."

Tao's sigh is long. And Joonmyun can't make out his face in the dark, but he can hear the resigned frown in his voice as he grumbles again about how ten days is really too long. Joonmyun _knows_ it is. But okay, okay. If he thinks he'll survive, okay, okay.

Tao’s arms are a warm, heavy, familiar weight around Joonmyun’s waist. Their legs tangle together as they shift, adjust.

"We should still try," Joonmyun insists because some things are too sacred. And Joonmyun, he really doesn't want to fuck Tao on the off chance his parent’s might hear, take back their precarious approval. He doesn’t want to give them cause. “Please, Tao.”

“Okay,” Tao relents, repeats. “Okay.”

Joonmyun curls even tighter into him with a lazy laugh. Tao’s pulse is a steady drum against his cheek as he drifts off to sleep.

 

But in the morning, they risk it again, risk it further. They're both still sleepy, sleep-fogged enough to make bad, bad decisions. Tao kisses him, sits up to finger himself, rides him. Joonmyun watches him through heavy eyelids as Tao braces himself on Joonmyun's shoulders, finds the right angle. Lip between his teeth, he rocks down, rising and falling with the most graceful abandon. Smooth still, slow, sinuous. "Just how that girl taught," he breathes, hips twisting, and Joonmyun laughs, slides his fingers over Tao's sleep rumpled shirt to thumb at the anchor of his hipbones, hold him steady as he thrusts upwards. He's chasing the beautiful, beautiful promise of release, completion in the warm cradle of Tao’s pliant, panting form.

Orgasm is a breathless, breathtaking affair, Joonmyun biting his lip hard to smother his loud, loud moans as Tao shudders beautifully on top of him, collapsing forward with a pant, cock pulsing to stain Joonmyun’s shirt, Tao’s sheets.

And Joonmyun groans for an entirely different reason—they’ll have to _answer_ for this—even as he coaxes Tao closer. They’re a sated tangle of limbs.

Joonmyun, Tao, they hadn’t used a condom either, and Tao chirps about the feeling of Joonmyun’s come inside of him. How that’s a Thing they’re going to have to deal with now.

Joonmyun closes his eyes with a low grunt of frustration. And as Tao's breathing steadies, his pants bloom into deep breathless chuckles.

"Worth it," he declares, fingers sliding up under Joonmyun's shoulder blades, urging him up. Another shower, breakfast out, they can get there early and beat the crowds.

Joonmyun only has 4 years on him, but it's still draining. And he can't bite back his groan as Tao singsongs about another day out. The beach he is promising. We can collect seashells and make out a bit near the waves.

But Joonmyun is still tired, drained post-orgasm. He’s all fatigue-heavy bones, sated, lazy limbs. 

"I'm too old for you," he decides, squirming away from Tao's persistent touches, purposefully limp when Tao tries to use his superior strength to his advantage and tug him upwards. "Too square."

Tao grumbles in acknowledgement, melting forward with a deprecating groan. He speaks the subsequent words between obnoxious smacks of his lips. "Ahjussi." Kiss. "Grandpa." Kiss. "Daddy." Kiss. He curls into his shoulder. “Silver fox."

Joonmyun swats weakly at his shoulder. "Respect your elders."

Tao's nose crinkles in amusement. His eyes crinkle in the corners, too, and a lazy, languid sort of tenderness swells in Joonmyun’s chest at the sight.

Okay, they can set the alarm, eat breakfast with Tao's parents, get an inferior spot. The proper accommodations must be made for the elderly.

Tao arches into the smack Joonmyun lands on his ass in retaliation, amusement dancing in his dark, liquid eyes. Limbs entwined, kisses warm, Tao lulls him to sleep. 

 

They shower together again, eat breakfast with Tao’s parents, wander out alone afterwards.

Tao shows him the places he used to busk with his old band, where he snuck out at night to get drunk with his friends, the rock where he got his first kiss, his first confession.

Tao's history, his history prior to Joonmyun, it's to be found here, carved into the blindingly white sands, the harsh harsh kiss of salty air, the severe cut of black, black stones.

And in the present, Joonmyun and Tao eat cotton candy, hold hands, risk a couple of kisses, sunscreen filmy legs tangled as they lounge on the sand.

Flushed and warm, they eat lunch and dinner there, too, skin tight after prolonged exposure to the sun’s rays. Tao smells like sea salt, coconut oil when they get home, the scent bleeding onto the sheets, mixing with sweat as Joonmyun decides to indulge. Just this once. Again. Tao bites down on the pillow, Joonmyun on Tao's shoulder to keep quiet.

The rest of the days pass in much the same pattern. Tao leading, Joonmyun resisting then relenting, sticky-sweet kisses in the aftermath, the occasional quiet, muted moan.

Tao's parents accompany for some of these trips—the aquarium, the mountain, the beach on their second trip, the stadium—but for the most part it’s Joonmyun and Tao hand-in-hand exploring the streets, squinting at the sights, Joonmyun drinking in Tao in his natural element, his heart clenching at the deepness, the easiness of Tao’s Mandarin, the secret smile in his warm eyes.

Joonmyun sits in the living room, squinting at children's cartoons as Tao says goodbye to his parents in their bedroom.

Tao cries silent and discreet afterwards, face pressed into Joonmyun’s shoulder, his own trembling.

It’s a short flight, but Tao feigns sleep in lieu of talking about it. And Joonmyun runs soothing, absent fingers down Tao’s side, dropping the occasional kiss, the occasional compliment to Tao’s warm, tan skin.

 

Tao had first come to Korea with intentions of studying the language, getting his business degree, (maybe getting a sugar daddy if that hadn’t worked out, he’d once joked), returning home with something to _show_ for his effort. (Joonmyun, Tao has argued since then, he’s something to show. But no, Joonmyun _isn’t_ , isn’t a concrete enough anchor for Tao).

Circumstances had changed, so had plans. Tao had stumbled upon a detour one late night, wandering through the streets of Hongdae with his messenger bag over his shoulder. He’d found an acoustic rap hybrid of duo of sorts, swaying near the graffiti-scarred buildings, drawing a crowd. The tall one drawling into a microphone between the smooth strums on her guitar, the smaller one—golden voiced, booming—swaying near her, a rich, rich contrast.

Tao he’d been transfixed, he’d told Joonmyun on their third date, tattoo laced hands skittering across the varnished wood of his coffee table as his eyes cast heavy with nostalgia and recollection. Tao, he’d been enraptured. 

He’d sold himself on his bass guitar skills, his lilting rapping style, his lyricism, too, if they wanted to branch out into something more more—

Chanyeon, an intimidating giantess in a short, tight tshirt dress, little dragonfly barrettes glittering in the streetlights, Kyungsoon watching her suspiciously from beneath her blunt bangs, they’d agreed then and there. After a trial period.

He’s lasted two years. They’re trying for their big break, waiting on a miracle of sorts.

Tao is still enrolled in school _technically_ , online, bare minimum credit-wise to tide himself over.

He picks up shifts at his friend’s restaurant, works part time at a children’s martial art hakwon, busks with his group, too.

He always has more than enough to pay his half of the rent, fund his leather and zipper heavy wardrobe, buy Joonmyun the most ill-advised gaudy gaudy baubles for his desk at work.

But it’s not enough, Tao has argued. He’s still worried it won’t be enough for his parents.

He needs a concrete.

They worry, Tao has told him. Worry that he doesn't have a purpose yet. That his dream is impractical. That he’s wasting his youth, his time, his potential, his last chance. 

Joonmyun, he's a good failsafe, Tao has decided. His parents, too. But Joonmyun, he still isn’t so sure. Because Tao sometimes still feels like something Joonmyun has to earn, something he has to prove. Tao is too precious, too important.

 

It takes them an hour—a silent, tense hour in the airport shuttle— to get home.

They unpack in relative silence, too, Tao still so _quiet_. Sad, guarded, too. He doesn’t rise to the bait when Joonmyun teases him about how wild his sleeping-in-a-plane hair is, how _slow_ he is at unpacking. Like an old man, even though Joonmyun is the ahjussi in this relationship. 

“That upset?” Joonmyun jokes, helping Tao sort his socks into their proper drawers, and Tao doesn’t answer. Their fingertips brush, and something like panic bubbles in his throat. Joonmyun swallows hard, trying to catch his eyes still, failing still. He speaks again. Much, much softer, tense, terrified, Joonmyun voices his worst worst fear. “Were they—that last day—did they ask you to not come back with me?"

Tao smarts at that, reacting _finally_ , his eyebrows pinching as he shakes his head hard. “They say you’re good for me,” Tao murmurs, still so so—too too—solemn. Then the faint, beautiful glimmer of a smile, teasing at the corner of his lips, still not quite reaching his eyes. “They've decided you're allowed to corrupt their only child, after all."

And that night, after they unpack luggage, emotions, insecurities, Joonmyun does—corrupt Tao. Eyes trained on the wonderful, writhing body beneath him, Joonmyun urges Tao to be as loud as he wants then compels it with his lips, fingers, cock.

They lounge naked for a while afterwards, have another round, order pizza, pull on only enough clothing to answer the door. It's Sunday, and they're an intertwined mess of limbs on their sheets, reluctant to pull away.

And like that, they fall back into the familiar, the comfortable, their routinized domesticity.

 

Mondays, they're for shared kisses over coffee and toast, texts on Joonmyun's lunch break, during Tao’s switching shifts, takeout from the kimbap place down the road. More kisses, tuna flavored and chaste, Joonmyun curling closer into the warm lingering coffee-scent heavy still on Tao's skin.

Tuesdays are kisses, too, image-heavy texts of Tao’s students, takeout from the pizza parlor, greasy messy night time kisses, sex sometimes, at the very least an enthusiastic handjob or blowjob on the couch or in the shower.

Wednesdays, humpdays, Joonmyun's teacher meetings and Tao's heavier hakwon days. Wednesdays are for cooking, cracking the spine of that cookbook Kyungsoon had gotten Joonmyun for Christmas, Tao distracting Joonmyun with even more kisses, more suggestive touches and words, too. Burnt cookies, soggy pasta, charred meat, inopportune erections, playful touches, mischievous kisses. Tao, laughing around a moan, putting in an order for fried chicken or noodles or Mexican or Turkish.

Thursdays, they’re for heavier toe-curling kisses, anticipation of long nights, Tao’s practice with his band. Thursdays are Joonmyun falling asleep alone, waking up late late to melt into the warmth of his love at his side, fingers tracing the familiar grooves of Tao's calloused fingers as he drifts back to sleep.

Fridays, work-weary, quiet relief, but nervous energy, they're for auditions in Hongdae bars. Tao wears purposefully tight, revealing clothes, exposing his tattoos, the gorgeous contours of his lean, fit body. Alone, he comes back with a smile or a frown on his face. 

On Saturdays, Tao performs. Sin personified, tantalizing temptation. Joonmyun accompanies those nights, watches from the bar as Tao works, woos, writhes. Oozing confidence, dripping with sex appeal, his slicked back hair, piercings, his clothing and general demeanor gaudy, obnoxious, but hot as fuck.

Joonmyun’s heart stays lodged deep in his throat, his mouth open, his eyes trained, his skin hot, his breathing tight. 

Tao was _made_ for this, Joonmyun knows. Tao, he wants to be acknowledged, wants to be adored. _Deserves_ it, Tao was made to be on the stage.

Joonmyun loves him several times over, enough for several people, but he wants this for him, too. Wants the world to be in awe, too. 

 

This Saturday, it’s an old haunt, a potent, hot, hot memory. 

The first time they had met, it had been here.

The first time, that first night, their first fuck, too.

In the bathroom stall after a show that Joonmyun had attended on a whim, at Jongdae’s prompting _Let the fuck loose, hyung_ , while you’re still young. 

Tao had caught his eyes. Held them as he'd snarled into the microphone, writhed on stage.

One eyebrow, a cocked head, a slow smile. They'd met in the bathroom afterwards. 

Bent forward at the waist, teeth digging into his own forearm, Tao—as of yet unnamed, a mere baby baby _fuck_ —had asked him to pull his hair, bite his shoulder, go fucking hard. Bent forward across the bathroom sink, he'd pressed back against every thrust, released the most obscene sounds, taut muscles shifting under the surface of his tight, tight black clothes, wrecked moans fogging that filthy mirror, beautiful beautiful body clenching around Joonmyun's cock with the most awful eager abandon.

Their second, third, fourth time had been here, too. On their second, third, fourth nights. Bent over in another stall the second time, a mutual handjob the third, face to face against the wall Joonmyun receiving on the fourth.

Anonymous, dirty, the most disastrously uncharacteristic indulgence, Joonmyun letting loose because he was alive, wanting more because it was his nature. 

And the fourth time, as he’d trembled through his orgasm, gasping, clambering to tug the man closer, wind his arms tighter and ask his name. God, he needed to know what name to moan later when he jerked off to the memory of this. 

And a name, a breathless laugh had led to a phone number, a date, another, more and more and more until there was couple clothing, rings, _I love you_ ’s, emergency contacts information, Tao’s toothbrush in his bathroom holder, Tao’s shoes in his doorway, Tao’s favorite food in Joonmyun’s fridge, more and more and more clothes accumulating until Joonmyun was extending his lease, Tao falling into his bed as a permanent fixture. Theirs had been a natural, natural progression into something decidedly domestic and all the more perfect. Fulfilling and beautiful. Exactly what Joonmyun had been craving, longing for, needing, found in the most unexpected of places. 

Joonmyun, he counted from that fourth night when asked for and wanted and gotten more. Had found in Tao, what he’d always, always wanted. But Tao, romantic that he was, he counted from the first when he had, in his own words, been _drawn_ , taken apart then put back together. Tao, he liked to say he knew then, head swimming with orgasm, limbs trembling with it, too. He had known that Joonmyun wasn’t someone he could easily quit. 

 

Joonmyun swallows around the memory, takes a slow drag from his straw to clear his throat. 

Tao is up last tonight, probably thrumming with excess energy in the glorified storage closet they call a waiting room. Joonmyun passes the time tapping his fingers against the varnished wood, texting his boyfriend encouraging words. The performance, the moment just right before, makes Tao nervous, also sometimes makes him horny. The best sex is after the show, Tao dripping with sweat, all smeared eyeliner, performance-huskened voice. And Joonmyun’s words become increasingly heated as he takes clandestine sips, promises Tao that he’ll make it so so good for his sake. 

Joonmyun's lips are tingling, fingers clumsy on the keys by the time Tao—the rest of the band—steps on stage. And yes, he was _made_ for this. Yes, Joonmyun is swept up anew. Yes, this is purpose and fulfillment and perfection.

Tao, he oozes confidence, drips sex appeal, commands attention. Always, but especially tonight. The stage lights cast heavy and harsh over his swaying form. The shadows dance across the lean definition of his arms, highlight the straining veins, muscles that underscore his musicianship as he strums the strings.

It's something slower tonight, a new song. Stark, stripped down, disarming. Only the vaguest acoustics—bone deep, resonant chords—as a distraction from the haunting clarity of Kyungsoon’s husky voice. Begging begging to be loved hard and strong and loud. Be loved completely. 

Joonmyun knows, without a doubt that Tao—he'd written this. Tao, he’d felt and wanted.

Affection mixes with captivation, and Joonmyun is thrumming with it still as tugs Tao into their bedroom afterwards, kisses him heavy and deep against the wall. Tao, ever ever ever perfect, slumps into his hold, fingers coming up to tilt Joonmyun’s head sharply back, deepen the angle. Joonmyun’s knee grinds between Tao’s spread denimed thighs. The pressure of Tao’s straining cock has Joonmyun sucking hard on Tao’s bottom lip, biting down with a groan of appreciation. 

He’s not sweaty like this, not sharp, not painted, not an outside for others Tao. He’s Joonmyun's like this, his hair and skin and lips and moans so so soft and warm and familiar against Joonmyun’s own. 

"Wanted it to be your song," Tao reveals in between slick glides of his warm, perfect, pliant lips. “Wanted it to be for your birthday. But tonight—fuck—we needed it tonight. And I know sex is a great last minute gift.” His fingers press bruises into Joonmyun’s biceps as he arches upwards into the rock of Joonmyun’s hips. Joonmyun’s own fingers drag down Tao’s chest to stroke over Tao’s cock. 

“Sex for my birthday?” Joonmyun tugs the zipper down, palms Tao’s cock through his striped boxers. Tao’s shirt whispers against their polka-dotted wallpaper as he slumps needily into the caress, chasing the friction with a pointed grind upward. His blunt nails dig into Joonmyun’s biceps in open invitation, pure awful temptation. “That’s my present?"

Tao’s laugh is strained, his eyes so dark, lips so bitten and red. “Kinky sex, yeah."

“How kinky?” Tao’s pants are almost too tight to tug them comfortably down, but Tao helps him along, shimmying, groaning as Joonmyun takes him into his fist. He strokes once, twice, nosing up the warm, tan column of Tao’s trembling throat. Sure to drag the lips, his words. “How creative?"

“I’m still deciding,” Tao laughs, breathier now, wrecked and just barely audible. “Still trying to figure out what you deserve."

And Tao urges him into another kiss before Joonmyun has a chance to respond. He couples that caress with the more deliberate drag of his bare cock against Joonmyun’s fist, murmuring about how he really, really wants Joonmyun to fuck him. How theres nothing he loves more than Joonmyun's cock inside him.

And Joonmyun doesn’t really have much desire, then, to belabor the point. 

 

Tao drops hints over the next couple of days, though, tries to get a feel for the best present. He bends over in the morning in an unnecessary though not unwelcome display of his flexibility, grinding teasingly against Joonmyun’s pajama pants, asking Joonmyun how he likes him best. _Any, any way_. And Tao comments around the toothpaste in his mouth, airy and falsely light about how he just read the most _interesting_ Gmarket reviews from their preferred seller. On their latest shipment of ropes, handcuffs, plugs. Tao, he also leaves the browser window open on 19+ Naver blogs. "New positions to try" on Tuesday, “50+ way to spice up your sex life” on Wednesday. 

Joonmyun and Tao, they’ve been together for a long time, been fucking—by Joonmyun’s count—even longer. They’ve confessed an impressive number of things in the postcoital afterglow. Tried them, too. They have an unofficial list of sorts— items include Joonmyun in a dress, Tao in a collar. But pillow talk isn’t a guaranteed later experiment and indulgence, and Tao, Joonmyun thinks, he’s trying to pick the best one, appeal to Joonmyun’s hottest fantasy, the sex that really would be a _gift_. 

Joonmyun’s cheeks feel hot, Tao’s skin cool against his as Joonmyun murmurs out some more that Thursday. Tao’s fingers whisper over his scalp, soothing and soft as Tao promises to pick the best, top last year’s birthday, properly thank Joonmyun for his own gift. 

 

Spring becomes hotter, more humid, a ring of sweat develops beneath the collar of his sweater, along his wrists. They start using the air conditioner in the classrooms, have to cut back their after lunch recess times, take more water breaks between classes. 

They are crankier, his students. Lu Han—increasingly scrappy, combative—picks a fight with Baekhyun over his favorite bunny plushie, Jongin cries over his scuffed indoor shoes, Dongwoo bites Wonshik during Art for commenting on Dongwoo’s lopsided circle. Hyuk knocks over Taekwoon’s color-coordinated block house, is subject to his ire. Joonmyun has to field more parent complaints, explain away more student fights, break out the time out chair on several occasions.

It’s harder to get back into the routine post-vacation, and the exhaustion weighs heavy on Joonmyun’s shoulders at night. He drinks an extra coffee in the morning, insists Tao kiss him extra hard for good luck and general morale. 

 

That Friday, the 15th—a week before Joonmyun’s birthday—it’s Tao’s hakwon payday. Joonmyun’s paydays, they’re for groceries, magazine subscriptions, utilities, nice dinners, half the rent. But Tao’s they’re for luxuries and indulgences: food delivery, new clothes, body modification, sex shop purposes hidden in discreet black bags. 

And true to form, Tao’s texting Joonmyun to meet him at the tattoo parlor, dinner, then he wants them to hit up the sex parlor. And maybe wait outside for a bit, if Tao is feeling inspired. Joonmyun’s birthday is coming up after all. ;)

Tao has already gone home, changed into jeans, a black tanktop, and he grins at Joonmyun in greeting, eyes and nose crinkling mischievously. Tao tugs Joonmyun into a tight, lingering hug, burying his face in the crown of Joonmyun’s head, inhaling deeply with a warm laugh.

Joonmyun had come straight from work. He is carrying his briefcase, still, wearing a powder blue sweater, khakis, decidedly Tao’s contrast. But Tao’s eyes still rake down his body when Joonmyun pulls away. 

Joonmyun—belatedly—murmurs out a quick greeting in the owner’s general direction. He thankfully disappears into his room, gives them privacy. Tao tugs him back into another hug, drags his nose down to sigh into Joonmyun’s ear. Tao, always, always, needs to touch more, longer. The gesture makes affection swell in Joonmyun’s chest. 

“Started without me?” Joonmyun protests around the cotton of Tao’s shirt. 

Tao nods, pulls back, but his arms remain heavy and possessive around Joonmyun’s waist. “Want to get another one,” he trills. “On my ass, maybe. My neck."

Joonmyun swallows hard. Tao’s eyes crinkle in a smile. 

“My thighs,” he continues, a lazy husky drawl. “My hips again."

Joonmyun touches those lightly, tracing over the hidden skin, and Tao’s eyes lid heavily in blatant persuasion. “You like these, right?” As if Joonmyun doesn’t center on them every time they fuck, doesn’t grip and lick and bite and tease just to make Tao whimper and beg. “Should get more for you to like, right?” 

Joonmyun eases his shirt up just just enough to peek at the skin by way of response, his fingernails scraping, just just to make Tao shudder. 

They’d only been together for four months when he’d gotten them, Joonmyun’s lips prints, red, parted, from when he’d first fulfilled one of Tao’s fantasies, smeared him red, mouthed him gasping and panting. Immortalized on his skin, rash, much too fast, but Joonmyun, he deserved to be carved onto Tao’s body, too. He’d _earned_ it, and even if—even then, Tao knew that Joonmyun—this moment wasn’t something he was going to regret. 

Joonmyun drags the pad of his thumb in a reverent memory. And Tao spins out of his hold, flutters around the room. He wiggles his ass as he moves in unabashed provocation, and Joonmyun bites his lips hard at the sight. 

Tao lingers by the glass case. It’s Tao’s photo, the lean smooth tan cut of his hipbone, the stamp of Joonmyun’s lips, still swollen with irritation. Some of his best work, the artist had decided. He’d asked to hang it up. The tattoo, it was Joonmyun’s birthday present last year. 

The memory of Tao’s breathless kisses, quivering skin, the searing tug of Tao’s fingers in his hair as Joonmyun had fallen to his knees, taken him into his mouth. Tao chanting “Yours, yours, yours,” all the while. He’d pulled off to ride him, and Joonmyun’s hand had pressed bruises into Tao’s straining forearms from quelling the urge to squeeze his hips, claim his mark. 

“My birthday,” he breathes, hands absently skimming up Tao’s forearm. Tao shudders visibly at the touch. 

“And for mine," Tao proposes airily. “For mine, I think—"

“Almost a year away," Joonmyun interrupts, and Tao turns around to scowl at him. 

"For mine you should,” Tao continues, “You should get a tattoo, a piercing.” His voice deepens at the prospect. It sends a fresh, potent wave of goosebumps skittering up along Joonmyun’s skin. 

Joonmyun is usually helpless to that voice, all of its appeals—suck me off while wearing lipstick, hyung; eat me out in this skirt; tie me to the bed; fuck me by the open hotel window and let them see how good it is for me when you take me like this—

But still—

"I teach children, Tao," Joonmyun reminds him delicately, voice still just a little too too affected. “You know how parents feel about—"

And Tao grimaces, rolls his eyes. He dismisses him with a wave of his heavily-ringed hand, a curl of his plush bottom lip.

“Fine then get one where only I can see,” he reasons, stepping closer, behind Joonmyun, fucking _looming_ as he lowers his voice. “A secret, secret one that only I can see…touch… _lick_.”

Joonmyun fights a shudder. "For your birthday?" Joonmyun breathes, and Tao nods slowly. Pressed close like this, his nose drags along the crown of Joonmyun’s head, a searing exhalation. "Where?" he presses.

Tao's long, warm fingers drag down his chest, rest on his waist to force him back, and Tao—Tao is getting _hard_ because of this. He is a distinct, deliciously telling pressure against Joonmyun’s ass. 

“Nipples,” Tao breathes, groans. “Lips. Cock. Want to tug on them. Suck them into my mouth, hyung."

 _Fuck_. Joonmyun bites back his own groan. 

“And tattoos?” Joonmyun manages, neck lolling back helplessly towards the gorgeous pressure. 

“Ass…thighs...heart."

Joonmyun allows himself one slow, slow grind—swallowing a heavy, heavy moan—before pulling away. They’re in public. They are frequent customers. This is _obscene_. 

Tao's hands close harder, urge him back once more. Flush with his body, Tao drags the outline of his cock against him in a deliciously slow, slow roll. And Joonmyun is also getting hard, breathing hard through his mouth, too. 

"Hmmm, for me?” Joonmyun jokes, breathless, heedless, reckless. 

“Could be,” Tao laughs airily in turn. “Wants to be."

"Don’t go—hmmm—don’t go giving it to anybody else. I want it." 

“Yeah?"

“Been a while since you fucked me,” Joonmyun notes, and Tao’s breath catches. His fingers tighten, dig almost painfully into Joonmyun’s waist, blunt fingernails snagging on the fabric of his sweater. 

"Is this what you want for your birthday?" Tao asks, voice deliciously, deliberately deep. His hands slide up up up to cup Joonmyun’s chin. A reminder, once more, of how much larger, stronger Tao is as he tips Joonmyun’s head back to whisper into his ear. "For me to fuck you?"

And Joonmyun grinds back just once more, trembling at the heft of Tao’s cock against his ass, biting his lower lip hard to smother a moan. 

"I want you to get a tattoo of my name right here," Tao continues when Joonmyun doesn’t respond. He drags his fingers along Joonmyun’s throat, closes them just briefly. His thumb grazes Joonmyun’s adam’s apple. "Want to bite it when I fuck you.” He drags it upwards, tilts Joonmyun’s chin more, sharp and uncomfortable, but so so hot. “When you let me fuck you."

Joonmyun groans then, lets Tao hear it. 

"Maybe here,” Tao proposes, shifting, grazing the nape of Joonmyun’s neck. “Right on your ass, for me to touch as I eat you out."

Joonmyun shudders bodily. Because _fuck_ , those amazing, amazing times Tao uses his words, makes promises, inevitably follows through. 

"Tattoo my name on your body,” Tao urges, lips grazing the shell of Joonmyun’s ear. “Belong to me, too. Wear my mark on your skin, too.”

Joonmyun doesn’t, _can’t_ , but he lets Tao magic marker scrawling Chinese characters—Tao’s name, mine, beautiful, I love you—across his body when they get home, empty-handed, too too too horny to stay long enough to see anything through.

Joonmyun splays himself open on their sheets, and Tao stains Joonmyun’s neck, his chest, his stomach, his thighs, his ass, his back. 

And Joonmyun lets Tao smear the ink into his skin as he fucks him, pressing bruises along the fading marks, rasping all the while about how Joonmyun is his his his his his. Marked like this and owned like this. 

Joonmyun tangles his fingers in Tao’s hair, grinding back towards every thrust, panting into Tao’s open mouth as he moans that yes, they belong to each other, Joonmyun couldn’t ever want for anything else.

Joonmyun bites down hard on Tao’s shoulder when he comes, marking him in turn, urges Tao to snap off the condom and come across his stomach to claim him again. Tao collapses into him as he moans helplessly, paints Joonmyun’s skin with his release. 

Come-sticky and sweaty, they press together, careless of the mess. 

Tao curls into him as Joonmyun traces reverent fingertips over the lasting ink on his skin. He pays special attention to Tao’s hipbones. He can feel Tao’s eyes on him as he does, warm and adoring, and Joonmyun is overcome with something heavy and potent, dragging there, scraping there, teasing there, whispering that he really does want to belong to Tao, physically, like this, really does want to wear a mark of this on his skin, Tao shouldn’t ever, ever doubt that. 

Tao, eyes so so full, kisses him hard, nods, tells him he loves him so so much. 

And they order fried chicken, eat on their bed, shower, change into their matching pajamas, cuddle tight. 

They fall asleep like that, wake up like that, kiss lazy and chaste and lingering and morning breathy like that, too, until Joonmyun’s stomach grumbles, and Tao makes an obscene comment about how he can satisfy his cravings, fill him to bursting. 

Joonmyun swats his ass, and Tao presses a laugh to his clothed chest, hair tickling against his nipples, breathing there deliberately wet and hot to make Joonmyun shudder. He knows Joonmyun is so so hungry for him. His fingers drag teasingly along the buttons of his shirt as he drawls about how Joonmyun is fucking _starved_. 

Joonmyun tugs him upwards, silences him with another kiss, harder and deeper than the ones he’s been gifting. He drags his fingers through Tao’s scalp, provoking a monumental shudder. Against Tao's mouth, he murmurs about how they should get breakfast at a nice café. 

Tao agrees against the seam of his mouth, too, because yes, yes, they’d gotten sidetracked last night, Tao had let Joonmyun distract him, but yes, they definitely should get breakfast, go to at least the sex shop if not back to the tattoo parlor, Tao still has money to spend. 

 

They eat breakfast paninis at a cafe, hold hands across the table, meander laughing and purposeless along the streets as the shops raise their curtains, open their doors. Joonmyun is dragged into five or six boutiques, urged into too tight dressing rooms to try on too expensive clothing, on their way back to another familiar haunt. 

They are the first customers, and Joonmyun’s cheeks are stained pink with residual shame, what’s left for him to feel, what Tao hasn’t bled dry. Tao hums in thought, his eyes glittering, equal parts mischief and desire, arm cocked back for Joonmyun to hold.

They wander through the aisles, linger at the decorative butt plugs, shiny plastic vibrators. Neon colors and fine glassware. 

When they're both upright like this, Joonmyun has to lean forward on his tiptoes, Tao bent, for Joonmyun to speak directly into his ear.

"Pick the one you want me to use on you," Joonmyun whispers, and Tao leans further back into him, all long lithe lines. Joonmyun decides to play dirty. He drags his fingers lengthwise down Tao’s chest, fingernails catching on the stiff buttons of Tao’s shirt as he exhales hot and heavy against Tao’s neck. He speaks softer, huskier. “Maybe, maybe the one you want to use on me, too."

And Tao he really is too, too easy, exhaling loudly through his mouth, turning to regard Joonmyun. Eyes heavy-lidded, he bites his lower lip hard but then shakes his head. He reminds Joonmyun that he’s paying this time. It’s his paycheck, and this is what Joonmyun lets him buy. 

"You buy the lube," Joonmyun insists, on his tiptoes again, hand brace on the back of Tao’s neck to urge his gaze downwards. "Buy several bottles. Just let me get this." He drops his voice, drops his hand to cup Tao's elbow. "It's so hot."

Tao bites the inside of his cheek before nodding, maneuvering so he’s the one pressed to Joonmyun’s back. Tao hooks his chin over Joonmyun’s shoulder as he deliberates over their choices. He plays dirty, too, hooks his thumbs into Joonmyun’s belt loops to make his breath catch. He whispers right into Joonmyun’s ear about how pretty that pink plug will look in Joonmyun’s ass, nice and _snug_. 

Joonmyun is more than mildly turned on when he pays an hour later, Tao pressed tight to his side. Joonmyun waits outside at a nearby café afterwards because Tao _had_ found something interesting for Joonmyun’s birthday. It’s a secret, and no, Joonmyun isn’t allowed to look in his bag, it doesn’t matter how cute he looks when he pouts like that. He isn’t going to spoil the surprise. 

 

They eat pasta in Itaewon, Joonmyun a carbonara, Tao fettuccine alfredo, and Tao balances the discreet black bag on the seat next to him, eyes twinkling in the ambient candle light. Tao knows to trust Joonmyun, but he still makes a big show of placing it in the highest shelf of their shared closet, where Joonmyun can never quite reach. 

It only stings just the slightest. 

 

Joonmyun only has to burn in anticipation for another 6 days. Joonmyun’s birthday is on a Friday this year, and Tao cancels his auditions, his performance on Saturday also for Joonmyun’s sake. He messages him to come right after work, get a cab and hurry home better yet, Tao is _waiting_. Tao is _ready_.

He attaches a selca—Tao barechested, eyes heavy, mouth hanging open obscenely—to belabor the point, alternately make Joonmyun burn in sheer anticipation and arousal as he distressingly hails a cab.

Joonmyun—embarrassingly—really does race to their apartment. He stumbles out of his shoes, peels off his sweater, his undershirt, stumbles a little more as he tugs off his pants. He leaves a pool of fabric in their entry way as he calls out for Tao, lets him know he—the birthday boy—is home.

He feels crass, maybe, dirty and little too eager and young and stupid in love like that, falling forward in a too-desperate response to Tao’s breathy call from behind their closed bedroom wall. “Come inside, hyung.”

He feels too easy for Tao, pathetically receptive, so quickly affected and unnerved.

But it’s his birthday and Tao had urged him—practically _begged_ —him to hurry, and he wants right fucking now. And really, really it’s worth it for the sight that greets him as he tugs open their decorative copper doorknob.

Huang Zitao, his boyfriend of almost 18 months, he’s wearing fishnet stockings, black lace panties, a smirk, splayed open on Joonmyun’s bed for his benefit. Decadently beautiful, exquisitely gorgeous. Fucking _his_.

Joonmyun chokes, steps faltering as he swallows back a curse. He gathers his bearing enough to beckon him closer, and Tao rises smooth and sleek from where he’s perched on the bed. He knows already—of course he fucking knows—to spin slowly in front of him, arms raised, hip cocked sharply. Joonmyun doesn’t swallow his groan down this time, lets Tao hear it, as he smooths his hands over Tao’s warm, tan skin. All the way from his chest down down down to trace delicately and appreciatively over the gorgeous, gorgeous strain of fabric on his ass and thighs.

“Happy birthday,” Tao breathes, low and husky. Head tilted so that even though he’s taller he’s blinking up at Joonmyun through his eyelashes. Joonmyun spares one long, hard squeeze to Tao’s ass, watches his eyelashes flutter, lips parting at the touch.

“Bend over,” he rasps, and Tao readily does, his spine curved right over their bed. The netted fabric strains against his lean thighs, his golden skin marring with the faint indentations of protesting nylon. Joonmyun’s mouth fucking _waters_. “Fuck, baby.” And he's there in the next instant, committing to memory with his fingertips, his lips, his tongue.

He drags his fingers up Tao’s netted thighs, blazes a wet wet trail down Tao's spine, whispering praises all the while into his skin. Beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful, mine, mine, mine. Tao arches eagerly into his touch. Bent like this, his ass grinds against Joonmyun’s half-hard cock.

“Hands and knees,” he says next, and Tao climbs onto the bed just for him. Joonmyun kneels behind him. He squeezes again with both hands, kneading the warm, supple flesh. Tao trembles at the caress, fingers twisting into their sheets, lips parting on a heavy, heady moan, knees whispering as they drag over their sheets.

Joonmyun pulls back to just stare one more time, appreciate just once more, touching still, parting Tao’s cheeks as he squeezes hard.

Tao’s so beautiful like this—always, always, always—but especially when he wants him, when he relinquishes control like this. Folding himself small enough for Joonmyun to break down, put back together. His, veritably his. No pretense, no artifice, no clothing, no affectation, spread open and vulnerable, for him, not not not anybody else. Tao is just just just his.

Tao arches his spine further, a delicate bow of lace and nylon. “Hmmmm, want a picture?" he groans, motioning clumsily towards the nightstand. And yes, he’d set out Joonmyun’s Nikon, what he uses to photograph birds, beaches, his children during field trips, Joonmyun and Tao on their infrequent picnic dates. And yes but it’s too far away, and he really doesn’t want to stop touching Tao, shifting now to drag lengthwise down his thighs. They’re firm and supple beneath his palms.

Tao like this, he’s too beautiful and perfect to bear.

And Tao gropes for the camera instead, clumsy and a little too eager. “For posterity,” he moans, waving it wildly, as Joonmyun drops a kiss to his ass, sucking a mark there, also for posterity.

Joonmyun’s grip is unsteady as he takes the camera, snaps one, two, three pictures in quick succession, groaning as Tao arches to wiggle his ass in heady, heavy provocation, eyes smoldering as they burn up at the lens. Joonmyun’s grip falters further, shaky, as Tao gropes back for it, sets it down.

And Joonmyun returns to the task at hand, appreciating Tao, his fucking gift.

Joonmyun grinds against him once, twice, panting into his back before Tao twists to kiss him, sloppy and awkward but heated. Joonmyun loses himself in it, pressing more forcefully, seeking further friction, a deeper angle, until Tao collapses into the bed, wet moans dampening their pillows. His hair is disheveled, tan skin flushed, lips ruddy and slick as he asks Joonmyun whether he likes his present, whether he’s gonna see this through.

Joonmyun in caught up in him again. Tao, his beautiful, beautiful Tao, the burn of his approval, the heat of his _want_ , his obedience, his body. Completely bare, save for the tight, straining material. From this angle, looming over him, Joonmyun can see how Tao’s cock—flushed, so fucking hard—is peeking out from the tight black lace of Tao’s panties.

Joonmyun pulls back to kiss sloppily down Tao’s spine again, mouthing until he hits fabric. He tears at the stockings until they snap against Tao’s skin, a faint, faint mark quickly replaced with the bruising suck of Joonmyun’s eager mouth. High on his thigh, an excuse to mouth his way up the swell of Tao’s ass. He bites there, tears again.

“Expensive,” Tao manages in a wrecked groan. It breaks off into a helpless moan. Joonmyun tears at the other side, ruins in symmetry. He drags his nails downward, and Tao is overcome with the most rewarding, beautiful, bone-deep shudder. “Wanted to save it for another time, too. Deserves more than one use.”

“I’ll buy you another one. Will buy you twenty more.” Joonmyun licks along the band of Tao’s panties, scrapes his teeth to get a hold. He starts to drag them down with his mouth, urges Tao’s legs apart. “Enough for you to wear this everyday.”

“That’s still so wasteful,” and Tao’s voice is too unsteady, too breathy and turned on, to have any bite or heat. “Really shouldn’t have.”

“This is my present,” Joonmyun protests. He drags Tao’s panties down to midthigh then drops another succulent kiss, licks slowly as he disengages.

“So pretty,” he praises breathlessly, “Encased in all this pretty fabric. Just for me. For my present, my pretty, pretty present.” Tao reacts as expected, shuddering at the words, legs opening further, helpless, mindlessly, flawless. Joonmyun’s painfully, painfully hard, swells further at the response. “Right, baby?”

His tongue dances, lingers, savoring the taste of Tao’s bared skin, and Tao shudders in response, whimpers out a quiet _yes_ , a quieter, more broken _please_.

"And it’s worth it," Joonmyun insists, not biting again, just scraping his teeth, relishing in the faint tremor, the way that goosebumps bloom beneath his grazing lips. “Right, baby? It’s worth it for me?" Joonmyun leans forward again, mouths at the cleft of his ass then down down down, lips featherlight, tongue barely grazing. Tao’s skin blooms with goosebumps, the heaviest tremor as he whines out a moan. “Right, Little Peach?” he asks right before he latches his mouth tight.

And Tao collapses forward with a helpless “Yes yes yes, worth it. _Yes_.”

Joonmyun doesn’t have the patience for slow, torturous, teasing licks tonight, doesn’t lead into it, gets right to the point. Tao’s body clenches around him, helpless and rippling beneath his ministrations as Joonmyun eases his tongue inside, groaning at the warm musk of him. Joonmyun holds him open with his thumbs to lick at even more, fuck at even more.

Tao is always distressingly, disconcertingly eager and perfect and warm and responsive, quivering beneath his mouth, aching for him too. Tao moans heavily, trembles gorgeously as Joonmyun works him open with his tongue. The nylon of what’s left of his torn fishnets whispers against their comforter as Tao shivers, grinds back onto Joonmyun’s questing tongue.

“So good,” Tao is panting now. “So fucking good.”

Then his head drops into his own forearm, and his cries are muffled but beautiful, nonetheless. There's a string of saliva when Joonmyun pulls away, groaning heavily too, his head dizzy at the dark dark ruin of Tao's broken pleas.

Joonmyun drags his mouth up, hums into the swell of Tao’s ass, lets his lips brush there as his thumb teases at Tao’s fluttering entrance. Joonmyun tells him how amazing he tastes, how much he loves doing this, and Tao’s thighs shake. He spares a bite, too, and Tao turns his head with a groan, pants out about needing more. He’d bought this with the intention of more.

Joonmyun bites down again, licks over the indention of his teeth, and Tao whimpers it now. About how he’s been thinking of Joonmyun’s fingers, Joonmyun’s cock, a full full unveiling, unwrapping. Tao's so hard and fuck he wants Joonmyun to feel good too wants Joonmyun to fill him up. Mark him up. Claim him again, just like he had last year.

And yes, but but but—

“Can you fuck me, instead baby?" Joonmyun proposes against Tao’s goosebumped skin. He licks once more, grazing Tao's rim in persuasion.

And Tao’s subsequent tremor is full-bodied.

“Yes, yes.”

Tao flips over without preamble, drags Joonmyun forward in the next instant. 

Joonmyun straddles him briefly, drags his ass back against the heft of Tao’s cock, moaning as he drags his hands up Tao’s body, tickling over his ribs, gliding over his nipples. His hand closes around Tao’s throat, light, but there. And he can feel the vibration of Tao's moans against his palm. He’s rasping, gasping for him.

"Fuck," Tao whimpers. "Fuck."

Joonmyun’s thumb traces up the heaving expanse of his adam’s apple, watching him through heavy lashes, mouth open and body thrumming with the sheer force of his arousal.

Tao is so beautiful. Tao is so _his_.

“Fuck me,” Tao moans. “ _Fuck_ me, hyung. Joonmyun hyung—please, please _please_.”

“You’re fucking me,” Joonmyun reminds him, and Tao’s throat jumps beneath his palm, muscles straining as he moans heavily.

Tao presses Joonmyun into the mattress in his next breath. Looming and beautiful, one hand braced near Joonmyun’s elbow, the other tracing over the ribbed material of his undershirt, Tao kisses him hot and deep and desperate. Joonmyun reaches upwards to tangle his fingers in Tao’s hair.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, and Tao shudders again. “Fuck me, baby. Fuck me, I’m the birthday boy.”

And it’s Tao’s turn to tear, Tao’s turn to bare. 

Tao is so much broader, stronger than him, and he demonstrates now, reminds him now, gentle and careful as he is. One hand cradling Joonmyun’s neck, the other working between his legs, tearing wrecked moans from Joonmyun’s heaving throat. Tao’s bare cock, torn nylon tights drag enticingly against Joonmyun’s skin as Tao’s broad fingers ease Joonmyun open, stroke by stroke, press by press, their thrusts thorough, efficient, precise, perfect. Joonmyun is gasping all too soon, fingers tangled in Tao’s hair, body a livewire of sensation, vibrations, white-hot pleasure. 

Joonmyun has tears swimming in his vision, clinging to his eyelashes by the time Tao spreads Joonmyun’s legs pointedly, dropping a kiss to his knee as he urges Joonmyun’s thighs around his waist, presses inside. Joonmyun’s head tips back at the sensation, the hot, hot pulsing perfection of Tao inside him even through the layer of latex. It’s happened enough times—never, ever quite enough times—but it’s still so overwhelming. Tao is still so overwhelming.

He's captive beneath him, and Joonmyun tugs him down into a heavy kiss, swallowing Tao’s moan, provoking another as he fucks back, urges Tao even faster. He drags red lines down Tao’s broad back in his desperate desire for more more more, moaning in encouragement with every thrust, with every rock, desperate fingers digging into the swell of Tao’s ass. 

Tao is also deep, steady, steady thrusts. Deep, delicious friction that has moans tumbling out of Joonmyun’s throat, dirty praises and husky ruined _I love you_ s dripping from his lips. 

And it’s perfect, fucking perfect, even the irritation of it against the sensitive skin of his thighs, his ass, the reminder of this as the perfect fucking thing. His perfect fucking gift. Joonmyun whimpers shakily in his attempt to keep up, drink in all the sensations, savor this as his gift.  
His fingers scrape up Tao’s back to tangle in Tao’s hair. He tugs hard, arches sharply as he pants into Tao’s mouth. 

Tao’s trembling with excess energy, holding back still but tearing him apart, nonetheless. Joonmyun’s entire body trembles with pleasure, too, as he gasps and moans for more, _please more more more_ , shuddering helplessly when Tao complies. Like this, it’s so so good. 

Tao becomes increasingly erratic as he nears the edge, rougher, harder, deliciously careless in his pleasure. 

Tao shifts, urges Joonmyun’s legs higher. Joonmyun like like this, he’s pinned by Tao’s cock, full so full, eager so eager at the insistent pressure of Tao’s cock right right right where he needs it most. And at this angle, the drag of Tao’s tummy against his cock, the passing and light friction, combined with the scratch of nylon against his skin, the delicious burn of Tao’s cock in his body, the ruin of Tao’s moans, it’s enough, more more more than enough.

He bites down hard on Tao’s shoulder when he comes, heavy and surging and gasping, his entire body shuddering with the force of it. He scrapes along Tao’s broad, sweaty back, tearing at his skin as every muscle tenses and releases, every nerve ending singes with pleasure. Tao moans in response, pace faltering, his cock stuttering, pulsing hot and wet inside of him. His large, looming frame trembles as his own orgasm washes over him. He grinds his release hard hard hard into Joonmyun’s shivering body. Joonmyun, he’s already on the edges of it, recovering enough, quickly enough to catch the slackjawed, eyebrow pinched face of Tao’s orgasm. Joonmyun fucks him through it, hips undulating, dragging it out. Tao comes down with a wrecked, wrecked whimper of Joonmyun’s name. 

And yes, it’s his birthday, his _very, very happy birthday_ , Tao whispers. And it’s better, if possible to be curled like this, held like this, loved like this in the afterglow, too. 

Tao brushes his bangs back, and tendrils of heat curl deliciously underneath his skin at the tenderness of it. Contentment fills his very bones. 

He shifts languidly, a sweet ache already in his limbs, his ass, but he urges Tao to stay inside, kisses in gratitude over all the skin he can reach. His eyebrows, his eyelids, his cheeks, his mouth. He lingers there the longest, cajoled into a long, lazy kiss as Tao’s arms wind around him, urge him up then to his side. 

Joonmyun winces slightly as Tao’s cock slides out of him, the sound wet, filthy. He winces again as he’s turned. The soreness more pronounced like this, but no less welcome, a pleasant tenderness, an exquisite sort of by-product of being spent, ruined for pleasure like this.

Tao slinks away after a long, long cuddle session. Nude and gorgeous and affectionate, he rises, disappears into the bathroom, cleans Joonmyun slow and soft, dropping kisses to his temple, his chest, his hip, as he wipes him down, soothes over his skin again. Joonmyun starts to reach out for him again, but Tao disappears anew. He goes through the trouble of pulling on a pair of pants now, urges Joonmyun to do the same before stepping outside.

And when Tao returns, he’s balancing a cake, slightly lumpy and obviously homemade. Dinner, too, store-bought, and still in styrofoam containers.

Tao serenades him with a husky, passionate, if not off key rendition of Happy Birthday, as heartbreakingly enthusiastic as Joonmyun’s class had been earlier today, down to the eyesmile.

And maybe, kinda pathetically, Joonmyun feels a rush of moisture to his eyes, maybe Tao has to wrangle forward one-armed and clumsy to get their breakfast-in-bed tray. Maybe, maybe Tao feels compelled to sooth him. So that there’s Tao’s smile, his warm touch on Joonmyun’s bare shoulder a neck, a kiss, too, dropped to Joonmyun’s temple as he reminds him that he loves him and yeah, he’s grateful that Joonmyun is in his life.

And Tao, he’s his love. He’s his gravity. He’s his choice, and Joonmyun pours as much of that as possible into the kiss he drags Tao into after their meal, shoving the food away. It’s deep and fervent and heated, so that Tao moans into it, pulls away with a breathy “Think you can go another round?”

He can’t and admits as much, laughing breathlessly when Tao pouts, make a deprecating remark about his grandpa, ahjussi, daddy, silverfox boyfriend’s lack of stamina. He’s a year older, a year more decrepit. Tao doesn’t know how he’ll manage. Joonmyun shuts him up with his hand around Tao’s cock, his lips along his neck. 

Joonmyun takes his laptop out soon after, buys several more orders of stockings, lace undies, garters, too, Tao humming in approval or shaking his head in dislike. And it’s Joonmyun’s present still, Joonmyun reassures Tao when Tao starts to make a comment, even if he pays for it, so long as Tao wears it, reminds him of how very, very grateful he is to have him in his life. 

 

Chanyeon and Kyungsoon they can manage as a duo in Tao’s absence, and Joonmyun relishes in this, a rare rehearsal-free weekend. Tao, still, still trying to thank him for Joonmyun’s own present, he makes a point of spoiling him, pampering him, reminding him with tender kisses, soft touches, gentle and heavy and beautiful affirmations stamped, laced, carved into his skin. Tao, in turn, actively reminds Joonmyun how much he also loves, loves, loves. 

“Chanyeon and Kyungsoon send their regards,” Tao informs him as he kicks Joonmyun’s legs underneath their covers. They’re watching a film, a sappy romantic comedy, eating. Tao gropes for his phone as it beeps with another notification. He frowns, eyebrows pinching, body tensing. “Chanyeon says they found another bassist for the show tonight,” Tao murmurs. “It’s Kyungsoon’s old boyfriend—before she found Chanyeon. His name is Sehun.” His voice is laced with disdain. 

“Are you okay?” Joonmyun asks, and Tao nods stiffly, motions for Joonmyun to unpause the DVD player. 

“I’m hotter than him anyway,” he decides. Joonmyun spares a cursory glance at Tao’s phone as he curls into him again, nods enthusiastically. Tao is a solid steady, warm and comfortable, softening as Joonmyun notes that he was probably less talented, too, seeing as they’d only considered Sehun in Tao’s absence. Joonmyun lolls his head back into the delicate curl of Tao’s relieved smile. 

 

The next week at work, Joonmyun is caught in the almost-summer shuffle, some students leaving for extended vacations, new potentials visiting in the mean time. On borrowed too-conspicuous plastic chairs, there are strange parents and children, sitting in on his classes, upsetting the delicate balance he’s established with his students. That causes complaints, too. And there’s an extra prickling of awareness in the nape of his neck as he sings about butterflies and tadpoles, shows his students how to color rainbows. 

Joonmyun, he finds himself drinking an extra cup of coffee in the afternoon, insisting on longer and longer kisses in the morning to tide him over. He needs Tao more than. Needs Tao more than Tao needs him. 

But Tao, he’s stressed, too. Summer, it’s festival season. It’s the season, also, of sundressed, loose tanked fans, band battles, talent scouts. A window of opportunity, just—just slightly more open, Tao and his group groping for that something more. 

And Sehun, he was supposed to be a temporary sub, but he also plays guitar, is back in Seoul seemingly for the rest of his life as his travel funds have run out. Sehun, he can lend their group an extra edge, right? It makes sense, right? They can—they can ask him to leave if Tao isn’t comfortable, but I mean, it’s not that big a deal, right? If it makes them better. He’s not being replaced. Sehun isn’t trying to take anything from him. Tao should—actually they all should get together, Joonmyun can come along. A belated birthday celebration of sorts, it’s been so long since they’ve all gotten together. 

They meet a bar, rent a table, eat fried chicken and drink cheap beer, talk. About music, movies, the weather, Sehun’s travels in the States. 

Sehun, the only single member, is a veritable fifth wheel, _supposed_ to be a fifth wheel. But he makes a point of involving himself into the group, burrowing between Kyungsoon and Chanyeon. Sehun loops his hand around Kyungsoon’s waist, laughing into the crown of his _noona’s_ head, as he leans back against Chanyeon’s shoulder. He’s charming, too, replies easily to all of Tao’s and Joonmyun’s comments and questions. 

Ingratiating, Joonmyun argues, but it’s not—not really if Sehun is welcome. Not even an attempt at flaunting, as there is no malice in his posture or in his voice as he asks Tao how long he’s been playing, what his favorite brand is, how kind Korea has been to him. 

But Joonmyun, he has to dislike him, on principle alone. He tries to be polite but slightly off-putting for Tao’s sake, manages something civil and maybe too kind, if Tao’s occasional murderous glances are anything to go by. 

The hours pass too slow, tense and stilted as everything is. 

And Tao needs his own kind of comforting, too, later that night, caught up in that betrayal of sorts. Demands it, not with sex, with possessive marks and distressingly, deliciously rough touches, not the way that Joonmyun is expecting, the way Tao usually does. But asking for it instead with soft, soft questions, insistent, eager fingers, imploring eyes, entangled—fully-clothed limbs. 

And and and Joonmyun was there. He's an objective enough—much more objective party—did he think Sehun was trying to, that Chanyeon and Kyungsoon were trying to—

And no, no, no, Joonmyun reassures. Tao isn’t dispensable. He doesn’t need to worry about people not wanting or needing him any longer. 

There’s a mutual sort of comforting that night, Tao needing, Joonmyun needing to be needed, both seeking something tangible and soft and close, chaste, but _deep_. 

 

Tao, he proposes a system of sorts the next morning. Soft and persuasive in the harsh Monday light as Joonmyun groans about his day, how busy it’s been, how Wonshik’s mother was threatening to pull Wonshik out over Dongwoo’s biting incident, how Jongin won’t stop _crying_ , how Baekhyun is going through a weird phase and refuses to answer to anything but “shark,” how Joonmyun has parent teacher conferences and really he’s just so—

Tao drags calloused fingertips down Joonmyun’s sternum, his fingers whispering over the ribbed material of Joonmyun’s undershirt as he hums about how Joonmyun and Tao, they both just need to _relax_. Need to help each other relax—with each other, with sex. Not a supersession, merely an addition to their current unofficial sex schedule. Rewards and little pick me up’s, stress relief, something to look forward to. Through Tao’s grueling practice sessions, Joonmyun’s stressful parent negotiations. 

“You can remember what I look like on my knees for you, the next time you have to sit on teacher meetings,” Tao offers, light, lilting. Joonmyun chokes on his tongue, lolls his head back as Tao kisses over the nape of his neck, drags his fingers down down down Joonmyun’s chest. “Think about how _good_ I’ll ride your cock every time another parent calls in to complain.”

It’s Monday morning, and he’s got another 10 minutes before he needs to be out the door. Joonmyun can’t afford to get hard right now, and his fingers tighten around Tao’s wrist to discourage his descent. He placates Tao by threading their fingers together, dragging their clasped hands to rest on his bellybutton.

“And I,” Tao continues after a beat, thumb swiping over Joonmyun’s knuckles, absent, affectionate. “I can think about your thighs, your tongue in my ass, you riding me, the next time we bomb an audition, the next time a customer complains or a parent drops my class.” His tone loses some of its teasing sparkle then. 

But when Joonmyun turns, Tao is smiling widely then pouting for a kiss, fingers threading through Joonmyun’s hair, tugging him upwards into the warm plushness of Tao’s minty mouth.

 

And it is veritably a Monday. 

Jongin cries again, over snack, but quiet and self-conscious, rubbing at his eyes and mumbling about how much he misses his mom and his dog and he just wants to go home and sleep. Joonmyun has to crouch down and pinky-promise to draw him a husky and three giraffes before he calms down. 

Jaehwan, not getting enough attention at home now that his brother is taking—excelling at— piano, relishes in any opportunity to draw attention to himself. He teams up with Baekhyun— _Shark_. Hand clasped, they speak too loudly during Circle Time, try to outsing their peers during Music. Hands still joined as they gesture too wide while signalling for Mr. Sun, they elbow a poor, easily rattled Yixing in the face. He cries, and Joonmyun has to call his mother during break as he hiccups about how his head hurts and how his heart hurts and he just wants to go home. 

Yifan, quietly solemn, insists on sitting beside Yixing on Joonmyun’s lap, holding his hand to calm him down. Joonmyun’s assistant teacher Hayeon balances him on her hip, has to convince Yixing that she can handle it, take care of little Xing Xing. 

Hyuk cries, too, has to be taken home, too, after he splashes water on his the crotch of his pants during a bathroom break. It looks like pee, Taekwoon notes, well-meaning enough as he whispers a little too loudly to Hayeon about Hyuk’s accident. And humiliated, Hyuk bursts into tears, keeps insisting it’s _not_. He hasn’t since—since the beginning of the year and that’s only because Joonmyun teacher didn’t see him raise his hand and ask to go, that’s the only reason why. And and and everyone has accidents and his mom had said it was okay. He’s still a big boy. It’s _okay_. 

All before lunch. 

They pack up their lunchboxes, have recess indoors again. 

A mother, visiting, makes a comment about how she wished, not to insult Joonmyun, but she wished that there were openings in other classes, female-led classes. 

Joonmyun presses tense fingers to his temples on the subway ride home, one hand clasping tight at the railing as the train teeters. His head hangs heavy between his weary shoulders. 

 

That night, Tao—truly, truly Joonmyun’s perfect match—sets down a Daiso bag with a magnetized white board, markers, post-its. 

He makes a calendar, consulting both Joonmyun’s phone and his own to find the particularly important, stress-provoking events (battle of the bands in three weeks, a new incoming student, open auditions for an indie label, parent-teacher conferences). 

They forgo their usual take-out place, heat a microwave pizza and watch a drama on TV. They shower together afterwards, and Tao massages his shoulders, peppers kisses along his spine. He works at the knots in Joonmyun’s shoulders, sighing as Joonmyun tilts his head back against his chest, moans softly for more. 

“Save your orgasms,” he laughs airily, dragging his thumb down Joonmyun’s spine—probably just to mean. Joonmyun suppresses a heavy shudder, tries to quiet his moan. “Save them for me, your rewards.”

He presses down again, and Joonmyun shudders heavily, unable to catch his reaction in time, head lolling back. He coaxes Tao into a kiss, awkward, but heated, purposeful until yes—yes, they should stop. That way these rewards will really count. Make you _want_. 

 

Tao doesn’t cross out the dates. He marks the passage of time with lumpy dry erase hearts instead. A teasing tilt to his head, an unnecessary comment about how very, very soon—Joonmyun will be _claiming_.

 

This week, he has to meet with parents, welcome a new student. 

Hongbin, he upsets the balance. Cute, wide-eyed, wide-smiled, well-behaved on his own, but eager to fit in and conform, a tiny sort of amplifier in striped polos and lightwashed overalls. Hongbin is sweet if not a little too-quiet when he’s with Sanghyuk, Taekwoon, even Lu Han. But he’s too-loud, too-energetic, too-much when joined with Baekhyun— _Shark_ , Jaehwan, Dongwoo. 

It’s troubling when the later group welcomes him into their fold whole-heartedly. Tiring, too. 

And Joonmyun has to stay later for the sake of meeting with parents, his head aching, stomach grumbling by the time he gets home. 

 

Things are tough for Tao, too. The summer rush means more customers, more colorful bills lining his glass tip jar, but also less rest times, shorter breaks, more occasions for customer complaints, more draining shifts. And Tao sneaks away to occasionally cry angry, frustrated tears in the bathroom. 

His other jobs are draining, too, emotionally, physically, mentally. His kids are grouchy because of the weather, too. Short or worse yet gone for the summer with their parents. It’s lonelier, harder. And the music, the music is still not coming through for him, and Sehun—Sehun he’s been added to their Kakao group. Extra reason to be wary. Reason for Tao to maybe deserve more comforting, all things considered. 

 

Midweek, Joonmyun has his head pillowed on Tao’s lap, his fingers drawing mindless patterns up Tao’s tense, denimed thighs. They’re watching another drama, and in the commercial break as beautiful people urge them to change banks, try this new soft drink, Tao talks about how Chanshik—his brightest pupil, his favorite student—left, too. His own fingers sift absently through Joonmyun’s hair, nails dragging against his scalp, as he talks about how it’s always _hard_ , maybe the hardest part. And yes, Joonmyun knows, it really, really is. Joonmyun tilts his head up at an awkward, painful angle to meet Tao’s eyes, decides as he sees Tao worry his plush bottom lip between his white, white teeth. 

“You need a pick me up,” Joonmyun declares, shifting, sliding slow and purposeful. “Not a reward,” he whispers, balancing himself on his elbows. Tao’s hand tightens around his locks. His grip is strong enough to keep Joonmyun in place. His hand still wander, though, fingers cajoling as they work open his pants, tease over the fine hair along his belly. “This is on me. I want to do this for you.”

Tao’s fingers loosen. 

Joonmyun suckles him into his mouth, groans at the stretch of it as Tao hardens and pulses against his tongue. Joonmyun swallows down as hard as he can, fast, but smooth with it until Tao is bucking up helplessly towards his mouth, tugging helplessly at his hair, gasping helplessly, coming helplessly in his mouth. 

Joonmyun wipes primly at his lips as he sits up. He’s painfully hard, bites back a hiss as his cock drags against the couch when he shifts. But he insists that Tao doesn’t return the favor, this was a _gift_. 

But Joonmyun lets himself be dragged into a kiss, shuddering as Tao moans into it, sucks on his tongue. He rises after indulging for one, two, three beats too long. The lingering bitter taste of Tao’s come is still stick on his tongue as he strokes himself on in the shower, head against the tiles, moans disappearing with the shower steam.

Tao curls into him half an hour later, tight and possessive, freshly-showered, too, skin soft and warm against his as they drift off to sleep together, matching pajamas chafing as they shift. 

 

That Thursday, Joonmyun completes parent teacher conferences, is pulled indoors by an eager, eager Tao, fingers hot and insistent against his waist, lips plush and persistent against his own. “Orgasm before or after dinner?” he asks against the seam of his mouth, making the decision for him within the next second as he drops to his knees, nuzzles against Joonmyun’s cotton pullover. 

Tao shouldn’t be home yet, and he’s already showered, made up, hair gelled, eyes lined, piercings in place. Joonmyun drops his briefcase as Tao’s broad, broad shoulders pin him to the wall. He drops his briefcase, and his head tips back to crash against a picture frame. 

And yes, this is Tao’s honestly _unnecessary_ —Joonmyun hadn’t been _serious_ —but welcome, welcome reward. Tao, on his knees, hands around Joonmyun’s waist, Joonmyun’s spine flush with the wall, hips tilted up. And Tao blinking up at him through his heavy, heavy eyelashes, it’s a good sight, a perfect reward. His eyebrow piercing glitters in the low light. 

“Before or after?” Tao repeats, dragging his lips invitingly against the tightening fabric of Joonmyun’s dress parts. “My hard, hard worker, before or after?”

“Before,” he breathes in response. 

And Tao wraps his fingers around Joonmyun’s waist, tight, like Joonmyun has told him he likes. He drags them up slowly beneath the fabric of Joonmyun’s pullover, his shirt, to suck marks onto his skin. He bites and mouths his way up Joonmyun’s trembling stomach, whispering “your reward” all the while, pressing closer and closer as Joonmyun’s fingers fall to his hair, tug in encouragement. 

Tao pauses to tug down his pants, his boxers, drop a kiss to his aching cock, wrap a loose fist around him before continuing his ascent. 

Joonmyun’s mouth falls open in a pant as Tao licks and sucks and marks and marks and marks. He swirls his tongue in a soothing caresses over the pronounced pink bruises already blooming across his skin. He strokes lazily all the while. Joonmyun moans and moans and moans all the while. 

Tao drags his hands down again, fingertips whispering as he lets the fabric fall again, pool again. He glides forward to swallow Joonmyun down eagerly as Joonmyun arches towards the wet wet friction. 

Joonmyun’s sweater snags on Tao's piercing. Not an uncommon occurrence, but Joonmyun still laughs as he tries to free Tao. One hand cradles Tao’s cheek in a placating gesture as his arousal-clumsy fingers work, tugging the threads free. 

Tao pulls off, wraps his fist, strokes as he grumbles about the interruption. Joonmyun chokes on another moan, fingers trembling. 

“Maybe not even worth the trouble,” Tao decides, lips still dragging over the head of Joonmyun’s cock. “Maybe this is some sort of Divine Intervention. It’s a sign that this system won’t work.”  
He sits back on his haunches as he speaks, threatens. His bottom lip is slick with saliva as he pouts, strokes him still. He’s adorable and off-put and so so hot. And Joonmyun is still so hard. 

“Come back,” he laughs, chokes, sliding his palm down Tao’s cheek, urging him closer. Tao’s eyelashes flutter. “Come on, baby, please.”

And Tao is still scowling, but agreeing. Because yes, Joonmyun had completed his goal, and yes, he deserves this, yes, yes, yes, Tao murmurs right before he sucks him into his mouth. 

And thus, Joonmyun claims his first. 

 

And Tao, he claims his first five days later, sits on Joonmyun’s face, thighs quivering around Joonmyun’s cheeks, fingers scraping helplessly down their stuccoed wall. He’d—he’d made the first rounds. They’re waiting for a call-back. 

 

Joonmyun’s school has a special teachers’ dinner that Friday, in celebration of successful round of parent-teacher conferences. It’s a Korean barbecue place near work, and they sit cross-legged on woven mats around the grill, drinking and eating and being merry, Joonmyun occasionally glancing at his phone, dodging questions about the gorgeous Chinese _girlfriend_ he’s confessed to having just a month prior.

At his side, fellow kindergarten teachers Minseok and Jungda elbow him good-naturedly, complaining loudly in between clinks of chopsticks about how all the good men are taken. How it’s tough out there for a single working girl. How this girl, she’s truly lucky. 

And Joonmyun clings to it, as an excuse. 

He should really go see her now, he admits around his second, maybe third shot of soju, head already dizzy with the lull of inebriation, the haze of grill smoke. She’s very particular about when he gets home, and she worries, resents, you know how girlfriends get. He would—you know it’s a Friday, and he would really like to—

His boss, red-faced with intoxication, nods understandingly.

Late, so late, dressed in his trying to impress his boss clothes still, Joonmyun hails a cab, stumbles into the venue.

Tao’s not playing last tonight, and he’s already on their last song of the night. There are more fans tonight, and Joonmyun bumpercars into them as he screams along to the lyrics, body swaying to keep beat. The sticky tangle of other people’s leather, denim adheres to his skin as he watches his love. 

He catches Tao’s eyes, notes the tilt of his head, and Joonmyun races to the bathroom, locking the door behind him as soon as the stage lights flicker off. Three knocks, and Tao is inside, kissing him hard and deep by way of greeting, falling to his knees as soon as Joonmyun fumbles the lock closed. 

His hair is stiff, tacky beneath Joonmyun’s fingers, and the pink highlights glitter in the bathroom’s harsh light. 

"I thought you couldn’t come," Tao breathes, hot and wet against the waistband of his pants, eager as always for this, for another indulgence. “Thank you.”

This is fast becoming a romantic location. Has too many memories, been witness to too many relationship milestones, all things considered. This is their special place, maybe.

“Skipped out early,” he confesses, and Tao nuzzles into him more firmly. His lips drag against the strained fabric of his jeans, delicious and so firm and hot. “Told my boss I had to go home to see my girlfriend.” Tao’s thumbs drag against Joonmyun’s ribs. “Leitao.”

Tao’s laugh is strained, his eyelashes heavy and so stark and dark in the lowlight. His eyeliner has smeared into his brow bone. It spreads further as Joonmyun cradles his face. And Tao arches into it, always always follows his touch, presses further into it. And Joonmyun's thumb drags against his eyelid, solid and demanding right there.

“Oppa,” Tao trills, licking languidly at his wrist, nosing up the sleeve of his cardigan. “I’m glad you did. Glad you’re here. Dressed so nicely for such a bad, bad place, gonna do such a bad, bad thing.”

“Is this a reward?” Joonmyun groans, and Tao nods his head. Joonmyun peels off the sweater to drape it over the sink, heedless as Tao noses more pointedly. “For what?”

“For being the best, best boyfriend. For being supportive and hot as _fuck_.”

He pulls Joonmyun’s zipper down with his mouth, swirls his tongue languidly against the taut fabric, and it’s embarrassing almost how easily he hardens under Tao’s attention. The delicious drag of his plush lips, even through his too-tight underwear, it’s leg-trembling perfect. Joonmyun’s fingers clench into fists at his sides, toes curling in his shoes as Tao suckles just the tip of him into his mouth, tongue dancing around the flared head. 

“Oppa,” Tao repeats, lower now, his hands skating up up up, teasing beneath the soft cotton of his button-up, tugging it loose to scrape his nails along Joonmyun’s skin. Joonmyun can barely contain his tremor as Tao’s palms graze his nipples. “Want to fuck my mouth, _oppa_?” 

Joonmyun’s cock jerks involuntarily, and Tao’s eyes glitter upwards at the observation. “Oppa,” he tries again, and Joonmyun groans. Tao laughs, the exhalation blowing hot and torturous against his aching cock. “Gonna suck you off, _oppa_.”

And then he’s swallowing him down enthusiastically, and he’s not saying much of anything. Joonmyun isn’t saying much of anything either, vocabulary reduced to _fuck_ , _yes_ , _Tao baby baby Tao_. 

 

“You look too out of place, dressed like this,” Tao presses to his hip when Joonmyun comes down from orgasm. His touch is tender, but his tone exasperated. “Did that first night, too. Every time you dress like this, every time, I want to fuck you up. Mess up your hair. Wrinkle your clothes. Want to leave bruises. Want to get you all sweaty and _mine_. Every fucking time.”

“Want for people to know how I am just for you?” Joonmyun chuckles weakly, not unaffected as Tao nuzzles mindlessly, breath so hot, lips so wet. Joonmyun’s every nerve ending is still singing, his skin still so so sensitive. “Straitlaced Kim Joonmyun getting sucked off in the bathroom in the bad part of town. You the one that breaks his resolve? Want to be my weakness?”

His skin is still thrumming in the afterglow, and he tugs Tao up by the armpits as he repeats the question. And Tao presses against him in the next incident, rutting weakly against his side. 

Joonmyun laughs breathlessly, cups Tao’s neck, thumb digging into his skin as he grinds his free hand down Tao's body. 

“Yes, want to peel back until I get to the dirty part of you,” he confesses against the crown of Joonmyun’s head. “Want it to be just for me, but I also—also want for everybody to know.”

“You just have to ask,” Joonmyun tells him, tangling his fingers in Tao’s hair, urging his head down. He nips at Tao’s throat as his hand works, stroking hard and fast through Tao’s clothes. “Ask, and I’ll kiss you in front of them, touch you in front of them, maybe maybe even strip you naked and fuck you in—”

His words taper off as Tao arches, coming deep and hard and loud into his own pants, panting as he trembles in Joonmyun’s hold. Tao always becomes so small with orgasm, so tiny and pliant, and he’s no different now, melting into him, pressing for more skin on skin. 

“Good?” Joonmyun teases, and Tao sags into him, back curled, nose against the crown of his head. His breath is hot against Joonmyun’s cheek. 

“This was supposed to be your reward,” he murmurs softly, and Joonmyun laughs, still-tingly fingers sifting affectionately through Tao’s hair. “But I got caught up and I made it about me, too. Got off, too.”

“So you’re not allowed to come?” Joonmyun scrapes down his neck, relishing in Tao’s weak shudder. 

“No, I just—” Tao sighs. “Get hard again, so I can do this right.” He’s falling to his knees again, skating his hands up Joonmyun’s thighs again. 

Joonmyun’s laugh is more strained now “I can’t. Not for at least another 15 minutes.”

“I wanted to—” Tao grumbles, sighing theatrically, pressing his wrinkled nose high high on Joonmyun's thigh, provoking a weak, weak shudder. His words are hot and damp against Joonmyun’s skin. Joonmyun touches him again, cradles his face to force his face upwards, force his eyes up. 

 

“Yes?”

Tao squirms away, latches onto his thigh again. His eyelashes kiss against Joonmyun’s bare hip. Joonmyun’s fingers shift to thread through his hair. “I wanted to," Tao speaks into his skin now, cheek warm as he drags it against Joonmyun's hip. "Wanted suck you off and get really hard and then for you to leave me like that.”

Joonmyun’s fingers tighten slightly. 

Tao seems to take that as encouragement. “Hard like that. Wanted to have to press against you to hide it as you took me home. I wanted you to keep teasing me and touching me so I _stayed_ hard, only letting me come after I’d _earned_ it.”

Tao drops a kiss to Joonmyun’s knuckles as he speaks, nuzzles against him, eyes heavy and imploring, asking him—silently now—to get hard again, give him this. But even then he can’t just—

“Another time,” he breathes finally, voice strained. 

Tao’s fingernails bite into the rumpled mess of Joonmyun’s cardigan on the cab ride home that night, as he grumbles again about how Joonmyun always looks so _terribly_ out of place. His searing touch belies his words. 

 

But even then, even though Tao had been _charmed_ , reminded of their first time, his lips still tug at the corners in a concerned frown as he comments about how Joonmyun really shouldn’t be allowed to dress himself the next afternoon, Tao can’t take him _anywhere_. Joonmyun can’t even take _himself_ anywhere. 

Joonmyun knows better, has caught Tao’s heated stares when Joonmyun dresses in the morning, knows that Tao had been attracted to him that first night, known from the way that Tao’s nails hand torn at the fabric of his sweater, but he decides for the sake of Tao’s argument to relent. Joonmyun nods sympathetically as he concedes that yes, he had been dressed poorly, yes it really put a cramp in Tao’s style, yes he really should be more sensitive to the venue and to Tao’s reputation. Yes, yes, he absolutely _should_ let his boyfriend pick out his clothes next time, salvage what he can of Joonmyun’s wardrobe, or better yet, he should let Tao shop for him. Tao should have veto power on Joonmyun’s clothing choices, yes that is a reasonable request.

Tao’s face splits into a grin as he saunters to their wardrobe.

In their closet, Tao’s clothes take more than their 50% due. Their material is darker, shinier, gaudier, but yeah maybe objectively speaking, more stylish. Leather and metallics and distressed jeans. Longer, too. There are clothespins, patches from bands and films that Tao loves, has forced him to watch or listen to.

Joonmyun—dressed in his Saturday best, distressed jeans, a loose cotton t, looser cardigan—he leans against their headboard as he waits. 

He’s already gone out like this, the two of them taking a trip to the grocery store, stopping at the pharmacy for sleeping pills, the 7-11 for ice cream. But it’s nearing time for Tao and Joonmyun to get ready for Tao’s show, and how had Joonmyun even _considered_ this an okay outfit. 

Tao emerges after a good 3 minutes of humming in thought. He’s carrying his favorite leather jacket. He’d been wearing this that first night, had shrugged it off, draped it over a stool to captivate and enrapture. To leave Joonmyun thrumming with a restless sort of energy and need, indulged minutes later in the bathroom.

The memory has a frisson of heat twisting in Joonmyun’s gut, has his head tilting up to meet Tao’s gaze. 

“Let me dress you,” Tao trills in the present, and he’s offering that smile. The one that Joonmyun is _helpless_ to resist. The one that had preceded forays into wax play, crossdressing, the reason Tao has lipstick prints on his hips. 

Tao holds it out for him, smiling expectantly. 

And as expected, the sleeves are too long, and Joonmyun is practically swimming in fabric.

But Tao just smiles at him, sighing dreamily. His elbow grazes Joonmyun’s head, as he drags his hand down Joonmyun’s suddenly hyperaware body, leads him to the floor length mirror. 

“You look so _good_ ,” Tao intones, voice deeper. He presses his nose to Joonmyun’s head, his breath a hot, hot exhalation. “Look so _bad_.”

And before Joonmyun has a proper chance to register that oh yeah Tao is _turned on_ , the younger is turning him sharply around, falling to his own knees, nuzzling into his navel. The force of it has Joonmyun stumbling slightly, legs knocking against the edge of their bed.

“Your audition,” he reminds him breathily. The whole reason Joonmyun is being _scolded_ , why they shouldn’t start to— “Should probably not…” Tao’s chin drags over Joonmyun’s cock through his suddenly tight jeans, and the words die in his throat.

“You’re so hot,” Tao breathes. The tone of his voice makes Joonmyun groan. “Wearing my clothes. So, so _hot_.”

Joonmyun chokes on a laugh, a moan, as Tao palms at his groin, meets his gaze with heavy, twinkling eyes. There’s want there, provocation there. And it’s distressing sometimes how quickly this happens, how much Joonmyun has to scramble to catch up.

“Yeah?” he jokes, reaching down with an unsteady palm to cradle Tao’s cheek. Tao nuzzles into his palm, breath hot and already a little shaky against the inside of Joonmyun’s wrist, before he surges forward again, intent, imploring. 

“Yes,” Tao groans. His lips graze the waistband of Joonmyun’s pants, catching there on the denim.

“Tao?" he groans in turn, trying for stern but too easy for this, too eager to give in. “What are you doing? What do you want?"

"Wants to eat you out," Tao groans back, and Joonmyun shudders in response, fingers curling into the smooth black leather of Tao’s jacket. "Make you come with my tongue in your ass."

Oh. Oh _fuck_.

Fast, dizzyingly fast, but Joonmyun, Joonmyun he can keep up. "Fuck me, too?"

"Not enough time,” Tao groans. His fingers wrap around Joonmyun’s waist then drag down hot and pointed to splay across Joonmyun's ass in a lazy promise. Before he squeezes hard, provokes a helpless shudder, helpless moan.

Joonmyun has to fight to stay upright, knees almost buckling as Tao kneads, caresses, urging him to press more insistently against Tao. The head of his cock drags against Tao’s lips, the wet heated promise of his mouth. 

“Turn over,” Tao urges. His lips catch on the strained zipper of Joonmyun’s suddenly too fucking tight pants. “Keep the jacket on.”

Joonmyun falls on his bed, elbows first, head hanging heavily between his tense arms, and Tao crawls behind him. He drags his hands down Joonmyun’s body, from the nape of his neck to his ass. 

Tao, for this, he does all the work. Strips him. Guides him. Turns him suddenly, easily—he’s so so strong—groans about how he wants Joonmyun to watch himself in their mirror, see what Tao can do for him. 

“Please,” he breathes as Joonmyun tenses, catching sight of his flushed face, his disheveled hair, face heating further at the thought. “For me,” he drops, lips dragging in a lazy promise over the swell of Joonmyun’s goosebumped ass. 

“Okay,” he agrees, and Tao’s lips curl into a smile, whisper down, down, down, light, teasing, torturing. Joonmyun’s fingers fist in the sheets. He catches his own wild eyes in the mirror, suppresses a shudder, eyelashes fluttering as Tao hums into the swell of his ass. 

Tao, he seems intent on dragging this out, swirling his tongue with the barest, but _wettest_ swipes of his beautiful, beautiful tongue. In the mirror, his muscles are strained, shoulders so so broad, muscles pronounced as he bends over him, spreads Joonmyun further. 

And Joonmyun is a fucking _mess_ by the time Tao eases his awful, awful tongue inside, licking at him warm and wet and wide. Joonmyun’s entire body trembles, his mouth falling open in a helpless moan as Tao murmurs about how _good_ it tastes, how _good_ it feels. 

His fingers spread, blunt nails biting into his ass, his thumb catching briefly on Joonmyun’s rim, groaning in appreciation. His tongue flutters, a chuckle buried deep, deep inside. And then he’s fucking it inside, eager and hot and fast and deep. He sets an awful, distressingly fast, perfect pace, massaging his skin all the while. The steady, steady slickness of it is almost too too too much, and Joonmyun fights to stay upright, watch himself in the mirror because he’d promised Tao. For, for Tao. 

He’s a mess of moans and heavy tremors, for Tao, too. His words—his shaky, shaky words are for Tao, too. 

“Feel so good” he rasps, and Tao moans into him, the vibration of it provoking a helpless sob on his own part. “I can hardly stay up,” he continues. “It’s so fucking _good_.”

Another moan, this one louder, the pressure more perfect, and Joonmyun’s head tips forward. The coarse zipper, smooth material drags against his mouth as he gasps for Tao to keep going. It feels so _good_. 

He’s drooling almost, sobbing at the very least, too too too affected, too overwhelmed. The taste of leather, cotton is thick on his tongue, as he unravels helplessly, mindlessly

It’s so so so so so—

“Perfect,” he rasps.

And then Tao, he drags his mouth up, away, Joonmyun affected enough to chase the wet heat of it. 

He registers the sound of rustling sheets, blinks up towards the mirror to see that Tao is pulling away to fumble in the nightstand for lube. 

Gorgeously disheveled, lips red, puffing heavy with shaky breaths. He’s hard, Joonmyun notes, hard from eating Joonmyun out. He’s watching him now—as if in awe—Joonmyun aches to kiss him, settles instead for arching his ass in invitation.

An invitation that Tao accepts within the next second, falling back behind Joonmyun’s tense legs. He drops a warm kiss to the arch of Joonmyun’s spine as he eases his first finger inside, and Joonmyun abandons the pretense of watching himself again as he tips forward to moan against the sleeve of Tao’s jacket. 

“Gonna ruin your jacket,” he manages in a breathy gasp as Tao fucks another inside, and Tao only hums, fucks them faster. His head drops to suck hard at Joonmyun’s rim. “Gonna— _fuck_ —gonna come all over it if you keep it up.”

Tao hums again—the vibration too, too, too good—as he curls his fingers, dragging just just just exactly. And Joonmyun’s knees give out. He collapses onto the bed with a shudder, ruts into the sheets with a wrecked moan, grinds back onto Tao’s face, too. The dry drag of the sheets against his cock does little to lessen the perfect wet friction of Tao’s wonderful tongue, working between his fingers, working its way perfectly inside. 

Wrecked as he is, desperate and brokenly moaning as he is, Joonmyun relishes in Tao’s own wrecked, desperate broken moans. Tao, he is getting off on this, too, wanting this, too. Just as much. He’s touching himself, too, Joonmyun can fucking _hear_. It lends an extra jolt of heat, has him panting out another “So fucking good” for Tao’s benefit. 

Tao’s mouth slides up, leaving searing kisses on the cleft of his ass, and his slickened fingers twist, probe, press just _yes, yes, yes_. And the stretch is better, the friction more pointed, but less wet, devastating, consuming. 

“Put your tongue back,” he coaxes, mouth falling in a desperate, desperate pant as Tao scissors his fingers open, drags just just—

And Tao flutters his tongue at Joonmyun’s spine, good—so, so, so fucking good—but not exactly what he wants, needs right now. 

“Fuck your tongue in again,” he rasps. “Come on baby, you always eat me out so good. Gonna make me come. Please, want to come like this.”

Tao obeys in the next instance, presses his tongue deep, and Joonmyun—too unsteady to hold himself up, jerk himself off, continues to grind against the sheets. Tao takes over that, too, asks him to watch himself—please, please, for Tao—as Tao fucks him with his fingers, his tongue, wraps an arm around Joonmyun’s waist before he wraps his free fist around Joonmyun’s cock to stroke him. 

And yes yes yes, he’s everywhere Joonmyun needs him and yes yes yes, if he just keeps right right right there—

“Your jacket, your jacket, your jacket,” Joonmyun manages before coming fucking _hard_ , body trembling, crumbling with a loud, loud moan. 

Head turned to the side, Joonmyun catches the sight of Tao coming soon after, kneeling behind Joonmyun to jerk himself off loud and sloppy and rough. He spurts his release across the back of Joonmyun’s thighs, breath ragged against Joonmyun’s back, his own jacket. 

 

Joonmyun makes them both shower, brush their teeth, change before they leave—apart, or Tao will _really_ be late—so he knows he’s imagining the ghost of lube on Tao’s mouth, the residual scent of come on his own skin. Tao pulls on another jacket, an even tighter pair of jeans, dresses Joonmyun this time, but stops himself at appraising hands and heavy, heated glances. 

 

Still strictly on trial period, Sehun performs tonight, too. He sways near Tao’s side, flirts, engages, and Tao responds appropriately on stage—their denimed thighs skate, Sehun’s hand loops around his waist, a shared microphone serves an excuse for heavy gazes, the drunken cheers informing their every movement—but Tao reels back as soon as it’s allowed. In the alley outside, he’s almost comically far away, at the very end, as far away as possible, fiddling with his phone to communicate his distaste. There’s a heavy, tense vacuum of space between them, and Joonmyun attempts to close it, for the sake of playing nice as Chanyeon, Kyungsoon propose ramen at a nearby restaurant. They’re eager, too, to resolve the conflict. 

Tao sits across from him on the table, Sehun at his side. They make light conversation again, Tao reluctantly engaged in a talk about what new albums he’s really enjoyed. 

Tao informs him when they get home that Sehun, interactions with Sehun, they should also count as things that need rewards. 

“Sex rewards?” Joonmyun breathes out, suppressing a laugh as Tao crinkles his nose in disdain, presses it to Joonmyun’s collarbone. “On the chart, too?”

“No, no,” Tao protests against the cotton of Joonmyun’s shirt. “Just—just hold my hand and tell me I’m important and so much better than him.”

Joonmyun doesn’t hide his laugh, and Tao laughs in turn, too, winding one long arm around his waist to tug him closer. 

They fall asleep that way. 

 

They claim more in the following weeks. 

Tao makes the first round of auditions for another label, asks Joonmyun to leave blood red lipsticks stains along his thighs. Tao smears the color all the way to Joonmyun’s chin as he fucks into Joonmyun’s mouth, tugs his hair until Joonmyun is gasping, his eyelashes clumping together with tears, jaw aching as he takes more and more and more. 

The third—third place at Battle of the Bands—has Tao biting down on his own wrist to smother his moans—in semi-public, they can’t be caught, he has to be _quiet_. Tao is sweaty, gorgeous, trembling with the exertion of staying quiet, staying still, trembling also with the stretch of Joonmyun’s fingers in his ass.

Joonmyun claims his second after an impromptu Summer Festival. The cause of many late nights in his desk chair, it ends with his students dressed as bumblebees, butterflies, shrieking along to a self-composed song about the joys of summer, the importance of caring for their planet. 

Tao debuts a new set of stockings that night, white, laced, gorgeous against his flushed skin. He has garters and matching lace panties, too fucking pretty to tear this time. Joonmyun tugs the material to midthigh instead, dropping featherlight kisses against the pretty, pretty lace as he fucks Tao hard and fast and dirty. Tao, he’s immobile like that, but no less eager, as he writhes, begs, moans, comes—all, all for him. And Joonmyun, he loses himself, finds himself in heady tug of Tao’s warm body, the complete perfection of every sensation.

 

Joonmyun runs out of career milestones by the second week of July, Hongbin getting better, the changing weather meaning his other students are better, too, but he allows himself to be rewarded without proper cause. The more mundane tasks of his job: surviving Hongin’s first fight—with Lu Han over that same damn plushy, a successful field trip to the Seoul National Forest, his children’s first words in clumsy, clumsy Hangul, Baekhyun allowing himself to be called by his name once more. 

He takes Tao against the mirror, fucks him in a dress, picks him up at a bar under a false name and fucks him into a bleach-white hotel mattress, handcuffs Tao to their headboard and fingerfucks until Tao cries. 

Joonmyun relishes in all the gorgeous pleasure with none of the bitter payoff. 

But as Joonmyun is relieved of his stress, Tao seems to be collapsing beneath the weight. 

Tao’s becoming increasingly needy, asking Joonmyun to fuck him tender, slow, meaningful, to tell him all the while how good it is, how good he is. Tao, this needier, more insecure Tao, he has Joonmyun dropping panted, broken praises—you’re gorgeous, look so good around my fingers, take me so fucking well, feel so good, want you so bad—in a sexual reassurance that he really is worth it all, really is all that Joonmyun could ever want. 

Sehun he’s an increasingly active, increasingly present part of Tao’s life, Tao complains to him, glistening with sweat still, flushed with the aftereffect of arousal still. He’s a perpetual reminder with his dumb ugly eyebrows and his husky drawl and his nimble, talented fingers, his easy—so much more easy—relationship with Chanyeon and Kyungsoon. And the worst part is he’s kind of actually really nice and friendly and funny, and he keeps inviting Tao and Joonmyun out to eat, keeps trying to bridge a sort of teasing friendship since they’re the same age. 

Tao claims more rewards in ice-cream-straight-from-the-container cuddles, ill-advised attempts to take a bubble bath together in their tiny, tiny bathtub, romcom marathons in their pajamas late into the night. 

Reduced to class sizes of three students, subject to shorter hours, Tao is on edge. 

Sehun teases Tao about his hair one night—good-natured, light, brushing his bangs back and calling him too cute to be taken seriously—and Tao, a string stretched taut but how is Sehun supposed to know that, fucking _snaps_. He screams about yes he might be fucking _cute_ but that’s not license enough to dismiss him. And how Sehun is such an entitled fucking asshole, thinks he can say and do whatever he wants, regardless of other people’s feelings or wants, thinks he can just take things when people—Tao—had fucking worked for this. Tao he fucking _knew_ he should have said “no” when they asked him, he didn’t know why he—how he fucking thought they’d—

And Tao storms off, slams the door behind him, is kicking the wall outside the building when they find him. 

Chanyeon has to intervene, drag him back. She makes them apologize to each other. Kyungsoon threatens to kick them both out if they don’t play nice. She’s terrifying apparently, Tao later tells him, her small frame looming with authority, dark eyes shining with anger, as she tells him that enough is enough, Tao needs to stop acting like a fucking _child_. 

Joonmyun gets a call about it. He feels like a father picking up his unruly child early from summer camp, but Tao isn’t a child. He’s a full grown man, weary and stewing with anger still as they get into a cab together. He squeezes Joonmyun’s hand on the entire ride home but doesn’t make to explain himself. 

 

Joonmyun gets a Kakao request from Sehun a couple of days later, an apology and explanation, he would stop trying to force things between Tao and him. 

Joonmyun and Sehun start to text afterwards. Joonmyun asks how he’s doing, gives advice. Sehun, he’s going back to school for IT, is lonely, he confesses. All of his friends have moved away. He hates feeling like an intruder, but he wants this to be his new purpose. He wants something to pour his heart into. 

Joonmyun understands. 

Tao, Sehun, Joonmyun they go out to dinner a week later, talk more openly about the source of conflict. Seated across from them on the scarred varnished wood table of an old coffee shop, Sehun apologizes again, his blush staining all the way to his ears, downwards, too, to disappear beneath the ribbed material of his tank. His fingers fiddle with the straw of his iced lemonade. 

“I’m kind of overcompensating,” he admits softly. “I hate feeling like a burden. I hate feeling like I don’t belong. Kyungsoon and Chanyeon, they’re my noonas, and they love me. But you’re their real player. They picked you, you know, and I just—I just want you to _like_ me. Just want to be a part of this group, too.”

And Sehun, he’s honestly not in the wrong—Joonmyun feels fucking awful—but he apologizes for making things awkward, forcing things, thinking he was allowed to tease Tao, thinking he was allowed to ask for his number, invite him out to drink. Shoulders hunched, he assures Tao once more that he’s not trying to replace him, hurt him, so please just let him stay in the group. 

Tao, lips pursed, apologizes, too, for taking it personally, for lashing out without proper cause. They can be friends, he decides. They’re both invested in this group’s success after all, so they should be allies, not enemies. 

Joonmyun, watching them carefully, is reminded of sitting Dongwoo and Baekhyun down, forcing them to say sorry to one another and then shake hands to show that they’d accepted the other’s apology. There’s an element of falseness, of formality to this, too, but at least there’s an agreement. 

But he still doesn’t trust him, Tao tells him, nuzzling into Joonmyun on the subway ride home, the words hot and accusatory against Joonmyun’s temple. Not all the way. And he still doesn’t want to be his friend. He doesn’t _have_ to be his friend. 

Joonmyun and Sehun, they continue to text afterwards, and Tao and Sehun reach some sort of ceasefire. There’s anger, hurt, indignation, jealousy simmering beneath the surface still and maybe something almost cruel in Sehun’s smile, something not so innocent in his observations. 

But it’s enough to placate all involved parties at the very least. 

 

With the start of August, Tao gets a call back from a restaurant, a new kid in his martial arts program, and Tao feels in the right demanding another reward. “The vibrator you promised to use on me, he notes loudly, staring at him pointedly. He looks vaguely menacing, even with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth, his lips foamy with toothpaste. “It’s been collecting dust,” he chides as he spits into their sink. Tonight, they agree. 

 

Joonmyun squeezes the pink silicone tight between his fingers as he Tao slides up their bed, lean and long and completely naked, eyes already heavy, hair already disheveled, lips already swollen from the heavy, heavy kisses they’d been engaging in before Tao had urged him away. “My reward,” he’d panted, pushing at his shoulder, but lolling his head back. So Joonmyun he’d just _needed_ to suck a mark on that tan skin, scrape his teeth to taste his moan. “No, no, don’t forget about my reward.” And Joonmyun had waddled away half-hard to wrestle open the box, stumbled back into the bedroom find him like this. 

Tao bites his lower lip, sweeping his eyes down Joonmyun’s body, lingering on his strained pants, on where his fist is clenched tight around the neon pink toy. 

“My reward,” he prompts, licking his lips slowly. 

Compelled to action, Joonmyun presses closer, cottoned knees whispering over the edge of the bed. He grazes his bare hand up Tao’s nude boy in appreciation. Tao is all lean muscle, long, long lines, his skin is soft, but solid to the touch. Responsive, Tao arches into his caress, spreads his legs in invitation, catching Joonmyun's eyes. Joonmyun swallows hard. The vibrator is heavy in his grasp. 

“My reward,” Tao reminds him as Joonmyun cradles his face, the toy near Tao’s stomach, grazing as he breathes in and out, hard, heavy. 

And it’s still Tao’s award, but Joonmyun still wants to—

"Kiss it," Joonmyun whispers, dragging the toy up Tao's flushed sternum, teasing it against Tao's nipple. "Show me you want it."

Tao sits up eagerly to comply.

He suckles on it, lips dragging, just exactly like he does when he sucks Joonmyun off. He swirls his tongue. Even moans when he catches Joonmyun's eyes. Lets his jaw fall slack to suck in as much as he can, and Joonmyun bites back a curse as he watches Tao's throat work. It’s a beautiful sight, familiar enough, but better from this vantage point. Like this, Joonmyun can appreciate the heavy-lidded want in Tao’s eyes, the tiny, helpless tremors that wrack his gorgeous body. 

Tao lets it fall free, swirls his tongue obscenely against the silicone head, lapping at it eagerly and moaning filthily.

"Use it on me now," he demands between filthy, filthy sucks. “Use it on me please.”

“Still haven’t earned it,” Joonmyun chides, stern, and Tao shivers, sucks it down again. He bobs up once, twice, lips dragging just just exactly like he does when—

Joonmyun pulls it free, Tao’s lips disengaging with a slick pop. And Joonmyun twists it on, drags it down Tao’s nipples, over the rippling skin of his ribs and stomach, Tao quivering all the while, moaning and asking again for it to be put inside him all the while. 

Joonmyun teases at Tao's belly button, the taut, trembling skin of his hips, just shy of where Tao’s cock is curling against his, twitching at every featherlight swipe. 

Tao digs his fingers meanwhile into Joonmyun’s hip, hard and unrelenting, the sting a grounding pleasure-pain, the helpless roughness of his desperation. His hips chase the fleeting friction. 

“Use on it me,” he whines, more desperate now, unsure now. “This is my reward,” he reminds him. 

“Have you earned it?” Joonmyun presses, circling Tao’s balls, teasing, torturing over his perineum. Tao sobs out a _yes_. Desperate to prove it, he gropes for the lube, fingers himself open as Joonmyun watches. Rough, shaking from the quick friction, he fumbles for Joonmyun’s hand, squeezing hard. He drags Joonmyun’s hands to his throat, and Joonmyun drags a thumb up his throat, across his swollen bottom lip, stroking softly as Tao moans. He sucks it into his mouth, bites on it as he quickens his pace now. At three fingers now, his entire body is thrumming with pleasure. Earning it, trying so hard to earn it even though it’s been his guaranteed award from the very start. 

Tao gasps when Joonmyun presses closer, presses the vibrator inside. His body gives so so easily, inner muscles clenching tightly as he moans. Joonmyun’s thumb pops free as Tao sags back into the sheets, face pinching in pleasure. 

“Yes, yes, _yes_.”

Joonmyun, for Tao’s sake, the sake of this as an actual reward, twists it to a higher setting, sets a deep, fast pace that has Tao whimpering, head tilting to the side, eyes fluttering shut. With pleasure, pure pure pleasure. He chants Joonmyun’s name like a prayer. 

Tao fucks down desperately, his moans throaty and so loud, entire body a gorgeous writhing mess of pure _want_. Joonmyun can hardly breathe, somehow manages to turn the vibrator up another level, and there are tears shining in Tao’s large, liquid eyes. 

“So good,” he keeps saying, breaking occasionally into desperate, pitchy Mandarin that Joonmyun can’t place, but he rewards him for it nonetheless. Fucks him faster for it, nonetheless. 

And it’s not until Tao is begging for him, panting about how good it fucking feels but also he needs Joonmyun. He needs the cock that’s attached to Joonmyun, and he needs that inside of him, needs Joonmyun right fucking _now_. 

His fingers are insistent, hard against Joonmyun’s shoulder as his head lolls heavily back in pure temptation. He begs and begs and begs. Because it’s so fucking _good_ —just just right _there_ —but he still, still _needs_ —

Joonmyun is so so so happy to provide, turning off the vibrator before tossing it aside, stripping clumsily before falling forward into him, the warm, wrecked cradle of Tao’s pliant, panting body. 

“Fuck me,” he urges, dragging his fingernails down Joonmyun’s back, their lips meeting in something equal parts sloppy and succulent. “Fuck me,” he groans against Joonmyun’s mouth. “Fuck me,” he continues even as Joonmyun urges Tao’s legs, eases his way inside. “Fuck me hard, fast.”

And Joonmyun is, as always, eager to provide, stamping his love along Tao’s throat, collarbone, thrusting it deep, deep into Tao’s body. 

 

The restaurant falls through, but the the student stays. Tao seeks comfort, half a comfort, in the form of an ice cream date in a nearby park on a Sunday afternoon. Seated on a wooden bench, the watch children scream-laugh, scream-jump, scream-climb on the jungle gym. Tao’s thigh is warm and solid against his own, his hand light on his knee. 

Another opportunity presents itself, an indie entertainment company looking for _something different_ —Kyungsoon, Chanyeon, Sehun, Tao, they’re different. The talent show merits another entry on their calendar, a promise to do whatever Tao likes, for however long he wants. 

“I can be the boss,” he whispers, eyes flirtatious, smile purposefully coy. “You know you want me to be the boss.”

 

And there's another offer, a smaller offer, permanent playing at a bar downtown. Not as big a deal, but still a hope dashed when it falls through. 

It was supposed to be a guaranteed, an _offer_ , the audition more a formality than anything else, and Tao had really thought they'd —

Joonmyun is already anticipating the disappointment. And Joonmyun is already insisting that even if—but no, Tao protests because he didn’t _earn_ it. It doesn’t make sense for him to be rewarded for failing. He’s not one of Joonmyun’s students on Sport’s Day, doesn’t need a “Participation Medal” to nurse his bruised ego. 

But with some prompting, a slow, deep kiss, distracting and persuasive. He falls to his knees and coaxes Tao’s crotch forward, fast now, insistent. 

Scrambling to keep up, fingers tangling in Joonmyun’s hair, Tao hardens in his mouth, moans needily. 

Joonmyun groans at the stretch, the taste of him as he swallows him down fast. He loves this, loves the musky heaviness stretching his mouth wide, the thick pulse of it throbbing against his tongue.

Tao lets out a helpless sound, bucks upwards mindlessly before catching himself, scrambling to tug at his own nipples, his own hair, and Joonmyun gets off on that too. The steady helpless press of tan skin against his rouged elbows, the whispered desperation of Tao’s questing fingers, the high high pitch of his moans.

And Joonmyun’s knees, cock, heart ache. This is about making Tao feel so so so so good, he smothers and overwhelms the bitter taste of disappointment, insecurity, defeat. This is about drowning out everything but the pleasure.

This is Joonmyun’s attempt at making everything _feel_ right just just just long for the moment to pass.

“Look at me,” he coaches, and Tao with some difficulty does. His chest is heaving, eyes heavy and dazed, lips bitten red as he moans. And with Tao watching him, Joonmyun arches pointedly, making a big show of letting Tao know that he’s touching himself, too, getting off on this, too. Tao twitches in his mouth, eyebrows pinching as he moans.

“Pull my hair,” he urges, “Pull my hair and fuck my mouth, baby. Please please please.”

Tao gasps, arches, comes suddenly, forcefully. His knees buckle, and Joonmyun chokes around the spurt of come, thick on his tongue, laughing as Tao’s head crashes back against the wall. 

“I didn't make the cut,” he says when Joonmyun makes to kiss him, maybe rut against his thigh. Joonmyun noses at Tao’s cheekbone. Tao’s eyelashes flutter heavily against his own cheekbone as he avoids Joonmyun's eyes, curls his hands into fists near his sides. He’s still dressed from the waist up, fiddles with the material of his wrinkled shirt. 

"Tao," Joonmyun starts, and Tao murmurs out a rushed _I don't want to talk about it_. He buries the confession into Joonmyun’s chest, fingers whispering along Joonmyun’s sides to cradle his face.

 

Drained, overwhelmed, trying so so hard to iron out the potential flaws in his routine, Tao spends more and more nights away. They stop eating dinner together, see each other only in the early mornings, late nights. There’s a strain there, Joonmyun clambering to comfort, clambering to hold on. 

 

It’s not a reward, proper, more a pick me up, a good luck charm, something to take the edge off. When Joonmyun fucks him against the wall so hard, so fast that Tao stains their wallpaper with his tears. But it's just as indulgent, just as much about making Tao feel good, Tao feel best. As he trembles and writhes and sobs and moans. 

Auditions are on a Thursday, and Joonmyun waits up on their couch for him to come home late, much too late for a school night. 

And it’s meant as a reward again— Joonmyun is really really hoping it will be a reward this time—but it’s a consolation prize once more, a diversion. A balm, a reprieve. Joonmyun, he already knows. Sehun texted him to warn him, let him know. 

Determined to erase the memory, ease the burn, Joonmyun hardly gives Tao a chance to step through the door, kick off his shoes before he's pressing him against the wall with a heavy kiss, grinding against him and telling him he wants him so, so bad. Seldom the initiator, holding the upper hand as a result, Joonmyun is playing dirty. 

“Fuck me,” he cajoles in a heated whisper against Tao’s mouth. Tao’s fingers—on Joonmyun’s waist—tighten just the slightest, a dull ache. Careful still. 

Tao is always so careful with him, something, something in his awareness of his size, his strength, it makes him grip limp, his fingertips gentle, as if Joonmyun was a fragile thing. As if Joonmyun can’t take it.

And Tao, Tao nursing his ego, channeling his hurt, his anger, his disappointment, he doesn’t _need_ to worry about Joonmyun’s feelings. Shouldn’t _have_ to.

Joonmyun can take it. Joonmyun _wants_.

“Fuck me like how I taught you,” he goads, fingernails dragging down Tao’s scalp, provoking a helpless shudder. “Fuck me like you want to be fucked. Show me, baby. Let me know. ”

And Tao’s eyes go so dark, lips parting at the persuasion. “I didn’t—” he starts, but Joonmyun interrupts him with a heavy kiss, drags his erection against Tao’s thigh. 

“Fuck me,” he cajoles against the seam of his lips. “Want so badly for you to just fuck me.” 

Tao—strong, strong Tao—lifts him easily, drags him to their bedroom. Joonmyun drags him into another kiss, a reminder. He wants this, oh how he wants this. Wants Tao right fucking now. In between moans, plush presses of his tongue, he divests himself of his clothes, tearing at Tao’s clothes, his skin, too. His resolve most of all. 

Joonmyun gropes for the lube when Tao—naked and hard and right _there_ —just fucking _stares_ , forgetting himself, forgetting what he’d requested, what Joonmyun is so easily giving. 

“Want you,” Joonmyun reminds him, curling his fingers theatrically as he slickens them, arching his body theatrically when he eases the first two inside, moaning theatrically, too as he catches Tao’s eyes. He compels him into motion then, Tao’s warm hands sliding appreciatively up his bare sides, thumbs catching on Joonmyun’s nipples, teasing there as Joonmyun spreads his legs, introduces a third. Less for show now as he finds that perfect, perfect spot, teasing it mercilessly, but Tao is still enraptured, mouthing sloppily at his shoulder. 

“Fuck me,” he reminds him, twisting his free hand into Tao’s hair, tugging just to watch Tao’s eyelashes flutter. “Like I taught you. Like you’ve always wanted but have been too scared to ask. Just—just like that. That’s what I want.” His fingers slide free with an obscene pop, and he quells a shudder, meeting Tao’s eyes. Lube-sticky, his hand glides down to tease over Tao’s pulsing erection, Joonmyun’s own dragging against Tao’s thigh as he shifts closer. “ _Take_ me.” The hand still tangled in Tao’s hair drags to wrap around his neck now, urging Tao on top of him. His other hand tugging meaningfully on Tao’s cock, Joonmyun bites down on the sharp tendons of Tao’s neck. Tao braces himself on one elbow, grinds down eagerly, cock hot against Joonmyun’s palm, stomach tense against Joonmyun’s own erection. And Joonmyun bites down harder, dragging his lips in a purposefully dizzying circuit. “Set the pace, Tao. _Fuck_ me, Tao.”

Finally, finally listening, following through with a low moan, Tao holds Joonmyun down then, cages him in. Using Joonmyun’s body at his whim, Tao drags Joonmyun’s legs around his waist. Their erections skate in an exquisitely dirty rhythm as Joonmyun continues to urge, moan, pant.  
And Tao, he’s folding Joonmyun’s body practically in half in the next breath, pinning his wrists to the bed. Looming and dark and all the more gorgeous, Tao slides his tongue down the column of Joonmyun's heaving throat. His voice is almost reverent with its arousal. “Gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck you.”

But still just a promise, still just an fulfilled fantasy 

“Come on, baby,” Joonmyun coaxes, baring his throat further and lidding his eyes and splaying his legs even wider. He’s offering himself, wanting Tao to just fucking take take _take_. "Make me scream. Fuck me _good_. Fuck hyung like I know you can.”

Tao forces his legs back back, holds him completely captive, completely immobile. Joonmyun’s knees press to chest, and he groans helplessly loud. Held like that, Joonmyun can only manage a stilted whimper, an awkward writhe when Tao bites his thigh, sinks inside. 

The stretch, the breathtaking push has Joonmyun choking on a loud, wrecked moan. He continues to choke, hiccup, swallow around broken moans, pants, chants of Tao’s name as Tao sets a brutal, brutal pace. And Tao, like this, he’s rougher, angrier, channelled aggression. It has a shot of adrenaline coursing through Joonmyun’s veins as Tao touches him, claims him in this hard, hard, elemental way.

“Good,” he pants, relishing in the way that makes Tao’s pace falters. “Fuck me harder."

Tao moans heavily and complies. The sound of skin on skin is resounding. The abuse against his ass makes it all the hotter.

Tao is always so pliant for his sake, so soft and gorgeous and submissive and receptive, but he's so distinctly hard and unforgiving now, claiming, taking, ruining in his own way. He’s fucking into him even harder, dragging so hot and hard and heavy inside of him. 

“Is this how you like it?” Joonmyun groans, voice, body shaking so so badly at the staggering pleasure. 

“How you like it, too,” Tao rasps in response grinding his cock in tight, small circles then thrusting deep deep deep, tearing a sob from Joonmyun’s throat. 

And yes, he’s right. Yes, this is perfect.

“Like it when you fuck me,” he groans, and Tao’s entire body shudders before his fingers scrape up his legs. They hold him down even harder, Joonmyun completely vulnerable now, completely exposed. A helpless sob tears itself out of Joonmyun’s throat.

And yes yes yes yes yes yes.

Joonmyun barely registers the whinning, hiccuping moans spilling from his parted lips, lost in the overpowering pleasure. Above him, Tao’s eyebrows pinch in concentration, in pleasure, lost, too. He’s close, Joonmyun can read it in the slackness of his jaw, the heavy tilt of his eyelids, the ruined rasp of his moans.

And Joonmyun he just wants to _come_. Just fucking _needs_ to come. And he’s still relenting control, playing a role. 

“Can I touch myself?” he begs, voice pitched high, pitched imploring. 

And it’s worth it for the way that Tao groans, the erratic way he fucks into him in response. 

“Can I come?” he presses when Tao doesn’t respond, his purposeless fists twist into the sheets as he moans. 

Tao’s pace falters then picks up faster, rougher. It punches the air out o f his lungs, but he somehow manages another broken sob. 

“Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I?” he chants, bowing sharply as Tao hits right in that sweet, sweet spot that has tremors wracking through his body. “Say yes, please please _please_.”

Tao’s eyes are heavy on his, so dark. “No,” he insists. And the husky ruin of his voice—cutting through the authority—makes a fresh jolt of arousal shoot down Joonmyun’s spine. 

“ _Fuck_ , Tao,” he pants, pleads. _Please, please, please_. His sweaty palms skitter down Tao’s back, neck limp as he moans, fucking begs for more. Fuck him harder if he’s not gonna let him touch himself. Make him come. He wants to come. Let him fucking come. 

His voice is hoarse and wrecked from it, how loud he moans, how brokenly he asks Tao for more.

Tao goes all the harder, faster.

Joonmyun is practically sobbing by the time that Tao takes him into his hand, coupling his strokes with more thorough thrusts. He fucks him closer closer closer to the edge, and it’s so good after waiting so so so so long.

Three strokes, three fucks, and Joonmyun is arching sharply, his whine pitching high high high with orgasm.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. 

He collapses back, boneless, dazed, but still present enough to moan wantonly, grind back, his movements restricted, languid, but no less effective. Tao comes with a shudder three thrusts later, grinding it out hard, sloppy, falling into him, too.

Tao, he’s never been this angry this rough, this _hard_ , but he’s falling back out of it, kissing softly at Joonmyun’s shoulder, saying his name like a prayer. 

Curling into him, his back to Tao’s chest, Joonmyun assesses the damage. Joonmyun’s fingers trace gingerly at his wrists. He twists to try out his other limbs, and Tao kisses there almost immediately after, apologizes there. His touch, his hesitance is a soothing balm, a familiar warmth.

“So this is how you want it,” Joonmyun laughs, weak but reassuring. Tao turns him—careful, so careful—gentle and soft. He watches him closely. Joonmyun lets his fondness seep into his tone. “This is how you’re always wanting me to give it to you?”

Tao relaxes into a small, precarious smile. “Yes.”

Joonmyun smiles at him easily, too, laughs as Tao touches him softly, eases him on his side, gropes for tissues to clean his stomach, his chest. Joonmyun curls into his touch. 

“Good to know.”

Tao’s eyelashes flutter almost shyly. He murmurs out a quiet “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” Joonmyun insists. “That was amazing.”

Tao makes a small noncommittal sound, shuffling to the trash can. 

Sufficiently clean, having sufficiently cleaned Joonmyun too, Tao slides beside him on their rumpled sheets. He curls into him immediately, burying a warm, sated sigh in Joonmyun’s neck. And Joonmyun is almost content to just let this _be_ , but his nature has him pulling away, measuring his words instead. 

“Tao,” he starts, dragging lazy kisses up his chest, his neck until he’s kissing him softly, slowly, threading his fingers through the hair at Tao’s skull to cradle him even closer. Joonmyun’s kissing him dazed and pliant, easing him into a potential sting, attempting to soften the potential insult to Tao’s pride. “I’m proud of you,” he says, heedless of the awkward atmosphere. “So, so proud of you.”

Tao, predictably, understandably maybe, he tenses in Joonmyun’s arms. “Don’t tease me,” he repeats, but his words are harder, more guarded. “Don’t indulge me. Don’t praise me without cause.”

But Joonmyun _knows_ Tao. Knows Tao is begging Joonmyun to love him louder then. Love him harder. Love him more grounding. Love him love him love him.

And even if he doesn't quite say it, even if he's not entirely receptive, Joonmyun has to believe that loving him is the right thing, reassuring him is the right thing. It’s all he can do. It’s the only way he can hope to make this right.

“You are amazing,” he continues.

“Because I fucked you?” Tao asks, and his voice is stiff, maybe almost icy, eyes unreadable. He holds Joonmyun still—always, always holds out for more touch—but pulls away, puts some distance between their nude bodies.

“Because you’re captivating,” Joonmyun counters, and those are the wrong words, Joonmyun recognizes, as Tao arches away from his touch. Completely away now. Rare, dangerous.

“Because I fucked you,” he repeats, and there’s no mistaking the iciness in his tone, Tao more forthright about it. “I’m captivating because I held you down and fucked you—”

“Tao—”

Tao shakes his head, dismisses Joonmyun’s remark—his potential remark—with a wave of his hand. But Joonmyun reaches out again, and Tao arches into it, softens into him. He presses his face into Joonmyun’s chest in the next instant. His breath is hot, heavy on Joonmyun’s still-sweaty skin. “Just don’t,” he insists, lips dragging persistent and so so persuasive. “Don’t need to lie—” Then anticipating Joonmyun’s protest, quieting it with a succulent kiss, Tao continues. “I don’t need you to build me back up like that with false praises. Don’t smother me with false affection just because you fear my reaction. I need—I need for this to work out for me.” The kiss Tao is leaving along his collarbone, the gentle brush of his hands down Joonmyun’s sides, they are so, so persistent, so, so persuasive. “But thank you for being such a shameless groupie,” he laughs, tone only just falsely light.

“Your number one fan,” Joonmyun asserts, and Tao laughs again. Softer, weaker, it ghosts over Joonmyun’s throat as Tao scoots closer, hums lazily.

“I need you to cheer for me when I win,” he murmurs. “Don’t need you to baby me when I don’t. I'm not one of your kids, Joonmyun. I promise I can handle it. I don't need you to do this for me.” He pulls away, meets his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

With Fall approaching, Fall Festival on the horizon—his children rehearsing for their roles as red, gold, brown leaves now—Joonmyun requires stress relief anew, bucking just the slightest under the added pressure, eager for some distraction and payout and warmth. But Tao, he's been too busy, preoccupied in turn. Tao's been shopping around for other offers on the internet late, late, late into the night. He becomes the background noise of clicking keys, the haunting glow of his laptop screen, the cold emptiness of an occupied mattress much, much too often.

Filled with purpose again, more firmly focused on this goal, he's too busy, even more singular in his pursuit. Bone-weary exhaustion bleeds into his movements, his voice, and he's stretching himself even thinner, exerting to the point of concern.

Joonmyun kisses him hard, just this side of bruising, possessive in the morning, half-hard and desperate at the caress alone, impressing upon him—trying to impress upon him just how much he loves him, just how badly he needs him.

Tao goes on trial runs with three, four other bands, spends too many nights away. Overcompensating maybe, but Kyungsoon asks Joonmyun to talk to him, says he's started to fall asleep during practice. He’s straining himself.

Joonmyun tries one Monday, muted alarm, quiet concern. But he plays dirty still, dragging would be soothing fingers down Tao's tense biceps, whispering his words in between succulent kisses along Tao’s throat. His arms loop around Tao’s waist, tip up to grind against him, hard and promising.

“Are you here, baby?” as he slides Tao’s pants down his thighs. “Are you okay, baby?” as he palms his cock. “I love you” as he drags Tao’s boxers down, grips his tightly, mouths his way down Tao’s clothed chest. “Be here with me. You’re enough like this right now” just before he takes him into his mouth.

But it doesn’t end well, this method The conversation aborted, Joonmyun urged forward but silent, before it can really make way.

And Tao starts curling away from him, closing off this part of him, no longer musing aloud about the best bands to audition for, the best bars to play at. And there’s a wedge, a growing rift, Tao farther and farther and farther away, walls were none were before. He tells Joonmyun he doesn't want to call things early anymore, doesn’t want to seek rewards beyond the reward of success itself. And this—music, his dream—he wants to keep this close, quiet until he has something to _show_. He thinks—no, he fucking _knows_ —he wants something concrete. After all this time, he wants something more than the maybe of his current position.

And Joonmyun, brushing shaggy bangs out of Tao’s dark, dark eyes the next morning, touching him softly, hesitantly over bitter morning coffee, buttered toast, reassures him that he doesn’t _have_ to. He shouldn’t even feel like he has to—

But no, Tao insists, he really—really does.

 

And this is the part where Joonmyun quells his nurturing, smothering instincts. This is the part where Joonmyun pretends it's Tao's need that informs their heavy, needy interactions.

And maybe the resentment, on his part, maybe it also grows. Maybe this drains him, too. Maybe Joonmyun needs Tao to need him back. Maybe this is the only way Joonmyun knows how to love, wrong right now, wrong for this situation. And maybe, maybe if he doesn’t know how to love him, love him _right_ right now, maybe Joonmyun really doesn’t deserve him. 

There’s a great Something, Something he doesn’t quite know how to address.

The days, maybe almost mercifully, bleed into each other.

 

It’s Wednesday, and he’s _exhausted_ , emotionally, physically, having dealt with a Baekhyun relapse with regard to his preferred name, a chocolate milk incident between Lu Han and Sanghyuk.

And it’s demoralizing coming home to an empty house, staying at home, picking listlessly at his noodles with chopsticks. Tao is supposed to be here. They’re supposed to be “cooking together.” Tao is supposed to be shoving at his shoulder, wrapping teasing hands around his waist to distract him, dropping tantalizing kisses along his neck. Joonmyun is supposed to manhandled against the stove to upend bottles of spices.

But Tao, tense, tense Tao, had called an extra practice. Because, there’s been rumors about a recruiter somewhere near—

And it isn’t supposed to be like this. He _hates_ this.

Sighing loudly, indulging in some heavy, heavy self-pity, he pulls on his shoes and makes an executive decision as he takes the subway, walks to the kimbap place near Chanyeon's apartment. He'll buy them food, stay for three songs, drag his boyfriend home by the ear if necessary. Kiss him hard to remind him, himself that Tao and Joonmyun belong to each other, should spend more time together, too.

But Sehun is there, too, seemingly for the same reason, smiling easily and waving him over. “It’s just Tao,” Sehun confesses, fiddling with a charm on his phone. “The noonas are resting their voices, so it’s just us watching him right now.” Sehun pauses, bites his lips. He tugs at his ear. “I’m getting them all food right now. We’re feeding him, don’t worry.” Another pause, this time longer. Sehun turns his phone over, messing with the case, the magnetized flap. He opens it, closes it. “Maybe, actually worry. But not from our end.”

Joonmyun nods. They call Sehun’s order. And they walk together, in step, back to Chanyeon’s tiny, tiny apartment.

Joonmyun _does_ have to drag Tao back, but by their intertwined fingers.

 

That something grows and grows. Insecurity, hesitance.

 

Tao, Joonmyun, they still talk, touch. Touch much more than they talk now. But it feels different, feels forced, feels unnatural, feels muted and calculated, feels like an attempt to gain leverage and ease fears, feels almost _wrong_. Tao and Joonmyun, like this, feel wrong.

 

Joonmyun throws himself further into his role as costume designer, director, produced, scraps of fabric piled high on the side of the mattress that Tao hardly seems to frequent now as he sews buttons, pins tulle.

At work, Thursday, a week before the show, he lays out newspapers, wrangles his kids into canvas body suits, spreads out sponges and brushes and bottles of paint. They are his set designers, he declares, as he explains the rules—no paint in our eyes, our mouths, our hair, our clothes, our _friends’_ eyes, mouths, hair, clothes; paint only goes on brushes and only on the canvas—allows them to paint the trees and the clouds and the rocks.

There are accidents, inevitable accidents, tears, too, but even as he wipes globs of brown and black off his khakis, Joonmyun feels pride swell in his chest.

 

“I’ve been reading up on forums, talking to people,” Tao starts the Sunday before the show, stirring pensively at his sugary bran flakes. “And someone offered to represent me, if I pay him,” he continues, and across the table from him, Joonmyun stiffens. Because this sounds like precisely the thing Tao _shouldn’t_ be doing. “Maybe, this is just a maybe.”

“Tao,” he says, tone delicate, setting down his spoon, catching his eyes.

“It’s not much,” Tao dismisses. “I have the money already,” and Joonmyun feels panic bubble in his throat.

“Pay him first?”

“Yes,” Tao murmurs distractedly, casting a glance at his phone as it glows blue with a notification.

“I think,” Joonmyun starts, stops, closing his mouth. “I’m not sure,” he continues.

He Kakaos Sehun, Chanyeon, Kyungsoo for a second, third, fourth opinion.

He follows Tao into the shower that night, when he comes back from another trial run. Joonmyun blows him, shuts off the water, drapes Tao’s thighs over his shoulders and eats him out until he’s sobbing.

 

Fall Festival goes on without a hitch. Jaehwan, the largest leaf, center stage, a fucking _natural_ , truly shines, in his solo dance while his classmates pitchily scream-sing about how change is good, how change is beauty. How this mean they'll bloom again.

Joonmyun poses for pictures, shakes hands, his grin so wide, his heart so full of pride, it aches.

 

The parents, touched, buy dinner for the teachers the following Friday.

Tao is invited, as his close friend now that Joonmyun has officially ended things with Leitao. The mothers had baked him a cake—a rainbow crepe cake with “Thank you” in white icing— and they present it to him after showering him with compliments. They insist he takes some home.

Tao, he'd missed another meeting with another potential manager for his sake. He’s texting now about meeting them as his legs taps restlessly against the cab floor, their door mat, the green linoleum near the refrigerator as he follows Joonmyun seemingly on auto-pilot.

“Tao,” Joonmyun starts, stops. He sets down his cake box, turns to regard him, and maybe—maybe because of his tone, maybe because his distress and fear of that great big something is staining his entire being—Tao’s eyes are guarded, his shoulders tense. He looks so much larger than Joonmyun, so imposing in his precarious distrust. He’s closed off to Joonmyun then. Not really his, he’s decided not to be his for this moment. And there is anger here, danger here. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Joonmyun continues anyway. Then committing to it fully, “No, I _know_ it’s not a good idea. I know it’s a _bad_ idea.”

“What do you know?” Tao counters, tone sharp, challenging, and Joonmyun swallows hard. A warning. He can still pull back. Still let this go, but he can’t. No he can’t.

“I talked to—“ Kyungsoon, Chanyeon, even Sehun, “ _People_ , and they’d all said—”

Tao bites his lip hard, shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it," he insists. “Don’t want to _fight_ about it.” He rolls his shoulders, clenches then unclenches his fists. “Trust me,” he says. “You have to trust me, believe in me.”

And that night, Tao, for the first time, doesn't twine around Joonmyun, stiff and so far away from him, on the other side of his queen size mattress.

 

He's coming undone, the Zitao he knows, loves. Being replaced with someone harder, someone increasingly unrecognizable, something different and large and so so broad in its scope.

Angry, distrustful, guarded. Tao, he’s getting desperate, getting petulant, getting getting so so far away. Tao is starting to resent him, Joonmyun realizes. A house, not a home. Boarded against him. Joonmyun is desperate to burrow his way beneath again. It’s where he belongs, in the warmth of Tao’s regard and affection.

Kyungsoon, Chanyeon, Sehun, over Kakao, advice him to stop this deal at least. If nothing else, recognizing this for what it is. But it’s risky because at the mention of it again, as they brush their teeth in the morning on Friday—a long day, a lonely day—Tao rears back, stiffens.

“Why?” Joonmyun insists. “Why now, Tao? Why is this so urgent? Why does it have to done right now?”

“I’m—” Tao gestures wildly, broadly, toothpaste foam on his mouth. He knocks over a can of mousse. “I can’t do this much longer. I can’t keep doing this with no payout. I can’t keep wasting my life. I’m still holding my fucking breath and nothing is—”

"It's okay," Joonmyun reassures, and Tao's shoulders rise in protest. "It'll be okay," he amends quickly.The exact wrong words. Hollow platitudes, Tao probably thinks, A for effort, placating words for a child.

“Why? Because you say it will be?” Tao bites back. “I fucking can’t with your empty words anymore, Joonmyun.”

“I just want to—”

“Well, I don’t. I’m meeting with those people tonight,” he tells him. Then “Don’t wait up.”

 

But it’s a Friday, so Joonmyun does. Brewing with hurt, with disappointment, with fear and need and love, he leaves an empty space for Tao, drags him forward to kiss him hard, close-mouthed, but needy, winding his arms tight, urging him to never, ever leave.

 

The next morning, Joonmyun forces a discussion, though he’s terrified. He’s buttering their toast, hands shaking so bad he has to set down his knife, turn to face Tao who’s humming at the coffee pot.

“Tao,” he starts, swallows. Then “Zitao,” to impress the point. Tao leans back against the counter, legs spreading, smile soft.

And it’s an awfully precarious peace to break for his sake. But still—

“I think, I think that man you’ve been talking to, I think it’s a bad idea.”

Tao, predictably, tenses. “The music thing. You think pursuing this is a bad idea,” he seems to decide.

“That’s not—” Joonmyun reaches out for him. Tao curls away—away—from him

"That’s what they told me, my parents," Tao says, speaking to his feet, avoiding Joonmyun's eyes and Joonmyun's touch. "That maybe I should just give this up, that you were proof that I was moving on, that’s what they said."

"I’m not asking that of you. I'm not saying that at _all_ , Tao. _Listen_ to me."

“But you still _want_ that. Don’t lie to me.”

“I want you to be happy,” Joonmyun counters, and Tao shakes his head, firm and decided.

“No,” he argues, hands tensing, squeezing around the counter. “Why don’t you ever fucking say what you actually feel, Joonmyun? Why do I have to be the one to say what you’re too scared to say?”

And no that’s not—

“What? That I miss you? That I hate seeing you like this? That I’m worried about you?” Joonmyun sighs loudly, in exasperation. “I feel those things, yes, sometimes, but you can’t—you’re not allowed to condemn me for things I might sometimes feel. You can’t speak for me or make me out to be the enemy here. That isn’t _fair_.”

“Do you want me to quit?” he asks, demands. “Tell me the truth.”

Joonmyun’s shoulders rise and fall, and it wasn’t supposed to be like this. “Tao, what do you want me to say?”

“What you feel?” he insists. “I want you to say what you feel and—” He holds up a hand to silence him. “Stop trying to be this perfect fucking boyfriend to impress my parents or feel fucking worthy of me.” A pause, the moment heavy with meaning. “Do you want me to quit?”

“Do you want to quit, Tao?”

“Say what you _feel_.”

And maybe things are finally coming to a head. But Joonmyun doesn’t answer, _can’t_. He doesn’t fucking _know_.

"It's easy for you, for all of you,” Tao says, finally, decisively, tone so so cold. “Easy for all of you to be dismissive and pragmatic, when it’s not your dream. When it doesn’t mean the same thing to you.”

Joonmyun jerks back, but tries to tell him that Tao's dreams, Tao's wants, Tao's desire, they're still—

"We've been together for 18 months, that's how long you've wanted this, Joonmyun. That's how long you've cared.” There is venom, alternately ice, alternately disdain, in his voice.

And maybe Joonmyun should have left well enough alone.

"That's as long as possible," Joonmyun argues back reckless, desperate to understand, but also to to to inject warmth in Tao’s voice and eyes again. "That's as long as I've loved you.”

And does that not count, he wants to add, but he’s terrified of the response, when Tao is like this. Reckless and angry like this.

Tao, he scoffs, and maybe a small, small part of Joonmyun breaks at that. “It will never mean the same thing to you as it means to me. 18 months versus my whole life."

“Tao,” Joonmyun insists, voice pitchy with distress, “That’s as long as fucking possible. That’s as long as I’ve loved you. That’s the best I can do."

“It isn't enough,” Tao breathes. Then louder, firmer. “It’s not enough." His tone is severe, beauty suddenly unapproachable, untouchable. Not his.

Trembling as he looks up at him, Joonmyun feels small and ugly and truly, truly unworthy, Tao is calling him unworthy. He swallows hard. And that little broken part, it splinters and grows and bleeds. It bleeds into his tone, too, makes his voice small and weak. “What are you trying to—what are you saying, Tao?"

Tao shakes his head hard. His cheeks are red, his eyes wet like maybe he also, maybe he doesn’t actually mean what Joonmyun is so terrified that he—but he avoids Joonmyun’s gaze, raises his shoulders, blocking himself off again.

“I don’t have the words in Korean,” he says finally. “But it’s like—they keep taking away little pieces of me, and I’m just supposed to be happy. I’m a balloon and they keep punching little holes in me, and I’m just—I’m just supposed to—”

“Nobody is asking you to do _anything_ , Tao. This is you.”

“Yes, they _are_. You’re always asking me to be—”

" _Happy_. I'm asking you to be here because I love you,” he protests. “That's what I'm asking of you. I love you and I believe in you and I love you. This is all because I love you. I _love_ you."

Tao shakes his head hard. “You don’t let me fucking _feel_. Sad or angry or disappointed. You just keep smothering me and imposing yourself on me, and you won’t even let me—You don’t even let me have this thing, my thing. I’m asking you to hold my hand and trust me.”

“That’s not fair. This is a _scam_. This person is going to take advantage of you. Don’t—don’t look for an excuse to push me away,” he says, wincing slightly at the accusation in his own words, the betrayal glittering in Tao's eyes at the declaration. But it has been said and furthermore Joonmyun believes it.

Tao doesn’t respond, just fucking _stares_ at him. And Tao’s body loses some of it’s fight, his shoulders losing their broadness, his eyes their fight as he curls, smaller, folding. But _away_. Away.

“What do you want from me?” Joonmyun finally says, resignation in his tone, in his shoulders, in the palms he raises. “What do you want me to do to make this right?”

_I want to be right in this, with you_

“I’m gonna go for a walk.”

And Joonmyun wonders absently if Tao’s voice always been so cold, his body so so closed off and broad and imposing. Has breathing always been this hard.

 

Tao turns off his phone, doesn’t come home, Joonmyun—regretting, regretting, regretting—cries the night away. Deep, deep wracking sobs, trying hard but failing to press hard enough on the wound to quell the pain, smother the ache.

 

His eyes are still red-rimmed, cheeks puffy, body and chest aching when he finds Tao in the kitchen the next morning, idling by the coffee pot.

Like he belongs there—he _does_. But also like things aren’t awful and tense and unsure between them.

Joonmyun, on auto-pilot, fists his hands into the soft material of Tao’s shirt, tugs him close to breath him in, bury his face Tao’s warm chest, wind his arms tight enough for Tao to stay like this. Suddenly painfully aware of how small he is, how he’d maybe started to take it for granted what it feels like when Tao cradles him like this in turn. “Where did you sleep?” he almost asks, wants to ask. How he slept and whether he cried, too. And whether he also doesn’t want this to break.

But Joonmyun, he doesn’t want to pull away. Wants to leave well enough alone for the time being. Tao’s breath blows hot against the crown of his head. This moment is too precious, too full and fragile and perfect for words.

It’s Tao that breaks it. Holding him still, not making to pull away. “You hurt me,” he admits, softly. In the background, Joonmyun hears the bubbling upstart of the coffee machine. He holds his breath. “You really—really did.”

“You hurt me, too,” Joonmyun breathes after a bit, exhausted, drained now that they’re acknowledging this awful, awful thing. He pulls just slightly away, rests his head on the warm, bare pillow of Tao’s arm. “I’m trying to love you right,” he whispers, resting his cheek on the careful hand Tao presses to Joonmyun’s face. “And I’m not—I know I’m not the best at it right now. I’m trying to be enough for you. And the fact that you’d...want to break up over this, that’d you want to—” He turns his head at the last part, so he doesn’t have to meet Tao’s eyes, be unnerved, or coaxed into taking the words back. “It _hurts_.”

Tao whispers a quiet _I’m sorry_ and his voice sounds wet and really so—too—vulnerable, triggering the ache in Joonmyun to comfort him. Even when he’s been wronged, even when—

“But you don’t get it,” he adds after a beat. “You don’t feel the way I feel, and it isn’t—

“I’ve been doing my best, Tao,” Joonmyun insists, nuzzling into him again, sliding his hands upwards, looping his arms around his broad, broad chest. “I’m here for you, Tao.” Tao’s own arms are looping around his waist. “You’re my gravity,” Joonmyun confesses. “Let me be yours. Let me do it right. Tell me how to fix this, Tao.”

Tao doesn’t say anything for a long, long time. And when he does, it’s Mandarin, his accent thick, words tumbling into each other before breaking off into something deep, dark, desperate, distressed he can hear it in the tone. He repeats it again, and Joonmyun isn’t equipped enough to understand, but he touches him, drags his hands up towards the nape of his neck. He turns his own head, cranes upwards to kiss him. Soft, slow, chaste.

And there’s still the question of this awful, divisive thing, this gnawing insecurity that Joonmyun can’t ever hope to fill, not as is. But Tao is in his arms, kissing back, parting his lips to ask for even more, begging silent but forceful, begging for Joonmyun to love him now, love him loud and hard and obvious and consuming, and Joonmyun presses closers to do just that.

**Author's Note:**

> #BeYourOwnHero2K15


End file.
